


absolutely ordinary

by Rebldomakr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Hurt/Comfort, Like A Really Long Time, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pureblood Supremacy, Slow-ish burn, Torture, essentially Pureblood Harry Potter, like you’ve got a LONG time before Harry + Voldie even kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-10-26 05:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20736719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebldomakr/pseuds/Rebldomakr
Summary: James and Lily Potter die from a rare strain of Dragon Pox shortly after the birth of their son. Some time after, he falls into the care of Lord Braxton Rosier.





	1. the very beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. I might go back and edit through this a bit still, but I'm human and I can only catch so much.

** Part One: Lord Braxton & Little Lords **

_May 21st, 1981_

Braxton Rosier is sitting in his private dining room, a newspaper laid out on the small table and a House Elf close by finishing his morning tea. On his lap, is a young boy curled up and suckling on his thumb. The boy is Harry Potter. A rather distant cousin, but one who had been orphaned. Braxton was the closest, best choice – his parents were much too old to take on a young child, after all.

It had been some months ago when the Ministry officials arrived with Harry in tow. The boy was much smaller, laid tightly in a basket. “Other than your parents and grandfather, you have the most Potter blood after Harry here.” A witch explained to him, while a wizard next to her wordlessly handed the basket containing the boy over. “By Ministry law, you have custody. It’s up to you what happens next.”

Meaning, Harry could have stayed with Braxton or, he could’ve been given to muggle authorities to handle in their orphanages or simply trace further back to find the next living relative. Braxton chose to at least temporarily keep the child and wrote to his parents for advice. That had been when his grandfather, Fibius, stepped in and asked Braxton to please take the boy.

“He’s a close cousin of my own,” His grandfather had said. Braxton’s grandfather is dreadfully old, but he could still see the sorrow in his grandfather’s eyes behind the hanging wrinkles and dusty lens of his glasses. “It’s the Potter line. It should be my responsibility, but I can’t. Please, my boy.”

So Braxton wrote to the Ministry and confirmed he would take on the boy as his ward.

Since, Braxton believes he’s done much to be a fair and good guardian. At first it was very difficult, of course. Harry struggled to take his bottle, likely more used to his mother’s milk versus the stuff Braxton had to stew in a cauldron, but he adapted. Harry is still a very attached child, but Braxton finds he doesn’t very much mind.

Harry has a room of his own. A semi-elegant nursery, one that many Rosier heirs have slept in, but one that goes mostly unused. Harry prefers to sleep curled next to Braxton at night. Sometimes, Braxton can get his ward to tuck safely at least into the crib still in the master room. Very rarely can he have Harry sleep in the nursery and be alone. Harry just doesn’t like it.

Braxton sighs when Harry suddenly makes a noise. He looks down. “What is it?” He asks, just as Harry opens his mouth and babbles out some inconsistencies followed by something actually understandable.

“-milk!” Harry ends, eyes wide and already starting to water.

“You just had a bottle.” Braxton says, lifting Harry up more. He looks at the House Elf, Flea, preparing his tea and tells it, “Go fetch a bottle of Harry’s milk from the cooler and warm it for me.”

Flea quickly obeys, knowing to pause her current task to tend to the newest order. She comes back after a couple of minutes, but by then Harry’s getting restless and tugging angrily at Braxton’s robes.

“Here, sir,” Flea’s voice is high pitched, but softly spoken. She holds the bottle out for her master to take.

Braxton shakes the bottle slightly before bringing the nipple up to Harry’s mouth. Harry’s hands immediately grab tightly onto it and tips the bottle up.

While Harry empties his second bottle of the day, Braxton returns his attention to the newspaper and tells the elf to hurry up with his tea.

It’s shortly later in the day when a letter arrives.

Braxton is now in his office, accompanied by his third cup of tea, and Harry playing with wooden blocks beside the desk. He’s got papers he should be paying attention to now laid out in front of him instead of the morning’s edition of _The Daily Prophet_, but instead of doing what he’s supposed to do he’s watching his ward.

Harry must be hitting milestones, soon. The boy’s begun to grow in some teeth. He talks more, too, though mostly in incoherent babbles and those baby noises with an occasional word thrown in. He can kind of walk, now, without falling down, but the boy seems to still prefer to just crawl or wait to be picked up. Mostly, all Harry has to do is point or cry to get what he needs. There’s not much need to learn to walk or even talk, not yet. Harry’s needs and wants are still very basic.

Flea pops into the office, right by the shut door. The House Elf bows its head and waits for Braxton’s gesture to come forward.

“I have a letter, sir, from the Malfoy family.” Flea says, setting the letter on the desk.

Braxton reaches forward and takes the letter. It comes in light blue parchment, like it had been dyed in water colored like the sky, with dark orange ink written over the top: ‘_To Lord Braxton of the Rosier Family, From Lady Narcissa of the House of Malfoy_’.

It’s one of Braxton’s cousins. Narcissa Malfoy, formerly Narcissa Black, the youngest daughter of his Aunt Druella, in fact. They were much closer in their youth, before the war and before the end of the war. She was a few years older than him, but had a son with her husband, Lucius. She married well, Braxton knows. The House of Malfoy, with the decline of the House of Black, is the most powerful pureblood family in Great Britain. Wealthy and politically affluent, armed to the teeth for pureblood society despite being so small.

He removes the wax seal, stamped with the Malfoy sigil, and unfolds the letter.

_Lord Rosier,_

_Later this week, the young Lord Draco is hosting a small get together in honor of his first birthday at Malfoy Manor. I would love for you and your ward to come attend. It’ll begin at noon on June 5th. _

He stops reading.

Braxton snorts and drops the letter onto the desk. He has been wondering how long it would be before someone decided to start investigating him and Harry. With the war, he expected it would be a while longer. When does one ever ignore a pureblood heir’s first birthday?

Even though he doesn’t think he’s going to ignore this party very much, he guesses he doesn’t have much of a choice. Gossip spreads like wildfire among purebloods. He doesn’t need a story of his rudeness being passed around his relatives, ultimately reaching his parents who would immediately scold him like he’s still a child.

“Well, Harry, what do you think of attending someone’s party?” Braxton asks, turning his body to peer down at the boy.

Harry simply tosses a block and makes a pleased noise.

“It sounds good.” Braxton agrees. “Alright. I’ll let them know we’ll be coming. Guess you’ll need some fancier robes. I don’t think my cousins will take too kindly to your diapers.”

_June 5th, 1981_

Malfoy Manor sits over meticulously maintained grounds, tall and as elegant as every Malfoy portrays themselves in their always fashionable, top of the line robes. The manor itself is not overly large, almost small in comparison to the sum of land which surrounds it, but it is most amazing to see with your own eyes. An exterior of white and silver, the shining windows, all down to the grand front doors.

Braxton and Harry arrive via the firepit in the gardens. Obviously, the Malfoy’s have weakened wards in some way to make it easier for people to transport in for the young heir’s birthday. It might even have something to do with the invitation letter in Braxton’s robe pocket, which he brought just in case he had to talk to the front gate and show proof to the damn thing.

It’s been years since Braxton walked these grounds.

In his arms, is Harry, curled up and fisting the front of his robes. His eyes, big and green, stare out in wonder.

Rosier Manor is antique compared to Malfoy Manor; Dark and grim to the bright and fine, wood where there is stone, English granite instead of Italian marble.

“I know, Harry, it’s very pretty.” Braxton whispers gently to the boy. “Maybe you’d like the gardens back home redone, hm? Can’t be too expensive to make it livelier.” Or, at least, alive.

Braxton is roughly ten feet from the firepit when it roars to life again. He turns his head and pauses, watching as someone steps out of the flames. He holds back a shiver when Bellatrix Lestrange comes bounding out, arm in arm with her husband, Rodolphus.

“Brax!” Bellatrix shrieks in greeting, ever the proper socialite. She beams and tugs her husband to start walking faster. “It’s been so long! Oh, who is this?” She grins, sharp surprisingly clean teeth, eyes darting so quick to the boy in Braxton’s arms that she had barely spared the pureblood lord a glance.

“This is Harry.” Braxton responds. “The child of the Potter’s.”

Rodolphus makes a noise. “His parents died from Pox, didn’t they? Sad.” He sounds very bored. “Is he not a halfblood?”

“He is.” Braxton agrees. “But it’s fine. The Potter family is good, old blood. My grandfather is a Potter, too,”

“Families are complicated, aren’t they?” Rodolphus cuts him off, while Bellatrix makes faces at Harry. “I always get such a headache looking at the family trees.”

“Very complicated.” Braxton agrees. Then he resumes walking, trying to effectively end the conversation.

He isn’t so lucky.

“Well! Rodolphus and I think it’s absolutely kind of you to take in someone with filthy blood in them.” Bellatrix goes on, arm detaching from her husband so she can skip beside Braxton. The skirts of her layered robes bounce with her, sleek hair still without a single stand sticking up.

Braxton curls his arm a little tighter around Harry. His ward rests his head back onto Braxton’s chest.

“He’s not filthy.” Braxton says. “He’s simply a halfblood. Should I remind you of his parents? Despite their age and means of death, they were very powerful.”

“I heard it’s the elderly Potters who caused them to become sick.” Rodolphus comments. “My brother works at St. Mungo’s. Said the Pox they contracted was pretty fierce. Miraculous, that the boy didn’t get it himself.”

“It isn’t like the Potter’s are that pure, Brax.” Bellatrix says. “I mean, they aren’t even in the Sacred list.”

“We all know the Sacred list is nonsense.” Braxton responds tightly. “Where’s Rabastan? He normally tags along with you two.”

“Rabastan decided to stay home.” Rodolphus says.

Bellatrix snorts. “He’s such a baby.” She complains.

Braxton wonders how long this birthday party is going to run.

The small group reach a large pair of doors, framed in sculpted bushes and vines, which are propped open. A small House Elf stands in the middle, armed with a scroll.

It greets them. “Hello lords and lady, what are your names?” It asks, undoing the scroll a little clumsily.

“Bellatrix Lestrange.” “Rodolphus Lestrange.” “Braxton Rosier.”

The elf looks at Harry. “And?” It pushes.

“Harry Potter.” Braxton adds.

It nods and begins to roll the scroll back up. “Please, come inside.” It bows its head. “Lord Draco’s party is down the hall to the right, in the second drawing room.”

The inside of Malfoy Manor is as beautiful as the out. The carpeted stone floor splits out like a forked road, to the left, right, and front. The small group follows the elf’s instructions and goes down the right hallway, which leads eventually to a large archway to the side.

“Cissy!” Bellatrix shrieks, bounding from the small group. Braxton is grateful to see the woman attach herself to her younger sister, Narcissa.

Harry makes a noise.

Braxton looks over the room and spots a small cluster of children playing. He walks over to them.

Draco Malfoy is the easiest to spot. The toddler is standing and walking in circles around three other children. An older girl is nearby, who Braxton immediately recognizes as Nymphadora Tonks. The halfblood girl, born from Andromeda Tonks. At least Harry won’t be the only halfblood present. Then, there is a young girl close to the age of Draco and Harry. Braxton assumes she must be his cousin’s daughter, Victoria.

They quiet as Braxton nears.

“Hello,” He greets kindly. “Is it okay if Harry plays with you?” He asks.

The oldest girl nods. “Yes!” She agrees happily, holding her arms out. “Can I hold him?” She asks.

Braxton hesitates, but allows her to take Harry into her thin arms. He mostly hangs out of them, but Harry is obviously safe. Braxton doesn’t intend to venture far, though, and chooses to stand awkwardly a couple of steps away while Harry integrates himself into the group.

Despite not wanting to distract himself, it doesn’t take very long before someone decides to strike up yet another conversation with Braxton.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you around!”

Evan Rosier, the latest Hogwarts graduate in the family. He beams at Braxton while he walks forward, a little clumsy in each step like maybe he’s hurt his leg.

“Hello.” Braxton greets back.

“Merlin,” Evan clasps Braxton’s shoulder. “I heard about you taking on the Potter boy. How is he?”

“He’s going well.” Braxton replies, glancing over to the children. Evan’s eyes follow the movement. “He was too young, when his parents passed, to be able to miss them. He’s a very happy child.”

“Your mum was a Potter, right?” Evan presses. “What about the boy’s mum?”

“A muggleborn, yes.” Braxton sighs. He looks around the room, searching maybe for something to sip on while he socializes. “He’s a halfblood, but the Potter family is a good, pure family. He’ll make a fine husband for a lady, when he’s older.”

“He will.” Evan agrees. “I think Victoria is his age, too. Since they aren’t closely related, blood wise, it would be advantageous.”

“Harry’s too young to talk about marriage arrangements.” Braxton says. “What of you, hm? Have you chosen a good witch to settle down with?”

“I’m still young!” Evan laughs. “What about you, cousin? I think you’re far more desperate in need than I, you’re the one with a kid.”

Braxton can’t help the laugh. “I have House Elves. Harry’s very well behaved.” He says.

“You’re also Lord Rosier. We’ll need an heir, one day.” Evan says. “Oh, Carmella!” He shouts.

An olive skinned witch, dressed in dark green robes, turn her head from where she was talking to Narcissa Malfoy to glance over. She scowls immediately and turns right back away. Narcissa looks, too, and she smiles when she makes eye contact with Braxton.

“Oops. Think I attracted the lady over.” Evan slaps Braxton’s back. “I think I’ll go bug Lucius, excuse me…” He steps away.

Narcissa walks full speed towards Braxton. He braces himself for impact.

“Lord Braxton,” Narcissa’s smile is soft, but true. She holds her hand out. Braxton gently takes it and bows his head, in respect.

“Lady Narcissa. Thank you for inviting me to your home.” Braxton says before releasing her hand.

“Now, Draco is the host.” Narcissa corrects.

Braxton raises his brow in suspect. Narcissa laughs.

“Yes, alright.” She says. “But in honor and name, Draco is our little host. I’m happy you could make it.”

“I thought it would be fun for Harry.” Braxton admits. “All the company he really has, is me.”

“Oh? I’m surprised his godfather hasn’t come storming back in yet.” Narcissa says. “I grew up with Sirius. I know his personality well.”

“Black has tried.” Braxton says. “I won’t let it happen. He left Harry with a werewolf, after all.”

Narcissa nods. “He’s blinded by companionship.” She says. “Does Harry do well? Adjusting, to your manor?” She asks.

“I think so.” Braxton says. “He eats plenty, sleeps straight through the night.”

“Oh? How much solid food does he eat?” Narcissa asks.

Braxton pauses before his answer. “None.” He looks around again for a drink, like the glass of firewhiskey in Narcissa’s hand. “I don’t think he’s old enough for it yet. His first birthday is only next month.”

“I suggest,” Narcissa says. “You start him on solid food. Draco is already eating what I mush up for him. I’ll owl you some recipes I’ve made.”

“That’s not-“

“It’s not a problem.” Narcissa quickly cuts him off. “How about I fetch you something to drink? You look parched.”

* * *

** Part Two: Fragility **

_July 3rd, 1981_

Harry takes to solid foods fast. Braxton gives the recipes that Narcissa sends him over to the House Elves working down in the kitchen. They immediately, and gladly, brew up the mushy meals for Harry to begin to eat. His favorite becomes the mashed peaches spiced with cinnamon. He has a small bowl every day for lunch, which Braxton feeds to him using a small silver spoon.

Another result of Draco’s birthday party, is the new list of friends for Harry to visit. Play dates become increasingly common. Normally, it’s with Draco himself. The two seemed to have become close very easily, the way little children do. Braxton can’t find any fault in the growing friendship. A Malfoy is a very good friend to have, especially for a halfblood lord like Harry.

As Harry’s birthday nears, Braxton finds it isn’t too difficult to draw up a list of people to invite.

As Harry’s birthday nears, Braxton also finds the pestering of Sirius Black becoming stronger and stronger.

Braxton tosses the third letter since the beginning of the month into the fireplace and calls for Flea the House Elf.

As soon as it pops in, Braxton tells it, “Please dress Harry. I’m going to take him to Diagon Alley.”

There’s much to do. Braxton has to order a new (small) wardrobe for Harry, since he’s already starting to outgrow what he has. He also needs to order the supplies for Harry’s birthday celebration at the end of month, mostly just for a wide liquor option.

After about ten minutes, Flea hands Harry up to Braxton. His ward is dressed in all light blue – from the full skirted frock to the petticoat to the ribbon tied around his head like a diadem.

Harry babbles something in greeting, but Braxton can almost make out his name coming out of it. It’s okay, Harry doesn’t seem to be too far behind, though not ahead, of other children in age in terms of talking.

Braxton thinks so, anyways. He isn’t entirely certain. He’s just basing this off of Harry’s interactions with Draco and other children.

They travel to Diagon Alley via Floo, as Harry’s too young to handle Apparition without simply puking and Braxton isn’t inclined to having to take a moment to vanish away vomit.

Stepping out of the public Floo pits, Braxton breathes in the warm air before moving out of the way for the next arrival.

The Diagon Alley public Floo pits were a new addition to the alley, but one Braxton appreciated. He simply paid the attendant on the exit for using the pit and it was much easier than trying to stumble out into the Leaky Cauldron, which is almost always a cluster of people and…Not.

At the exit today is a young wizard. He’s obviously still in Hogwarts years, but he recognizes Braxton and throws a big smile up at him when he stops and hands him the two knuts.

“How’re you today, Lord Rosier?” The boy asks. It takes Braxton a moment to finally place the wizard properly – Giovanni Avery, the youngest of Lord Colton Avery and his wife Delilah. The boy frequently stands beside his father and worked as an intern last summer at the Ministry in his father’s office.

“I’m doing well. How’s your mother?” Braxton asks kindly.

Giovanni’s smile wavers. “She’s going good.” He says.

Having more than one son must be hard, Braxton thinks. He bids the young Avery farewell and moves into the alley’s main road. The firstborn son is, of course, the heir. The second born more like a backup heir, but at least has political advantage. A thirdborn son is difficult. There’s no great inheritance promised for him. He has to work much harder than his siblings, because few parents want their daughters to marry a thirdborn.

At least things are changing, Braxton thinks. There are many more romantic marriages than arranged ones, nowadays. The boy is also a hard worker. Not many purebloods would willingly work as an attendant at the Floo pit.

Braxton, with Harry held firmly in his arms, walks down the main road in Diagon Alley. It’s rather crowded, but he remembers the month. If he’s remembering right, July is normally the month when students begin getting their letters from Hogwarts.

Merchants chant slogans and wave products, decorative signs flash and morph in sighs, workers quietly sweep dirt out of their store back to the road. People shove, intentional and not, trying to get to their destination. Still, it’s all fast paced. It’s only roughly a ten minute walk before Braxton is walking off of the road to get to the door to _Fair Lady’s_.

_Fair Lady’s_ is a small clothing shop ran by Lady Elizaveta Shafiq. She’s an older woman, built like an Amazon warrior in spite of her soft character. The store is also one of the best in Diagon Alley, at least for finer clothing.

When Braxton steps inside, the bell on top of the door rings.

A short, young witch organizing rolls of floating cloth greets him. “Lady Eliza is in back finishing up with a client, sir. Feel free to look around while you wait.” She says kindly.

Braxton nods his head and does just that.

Like many shops alongside Diagon Alley, the interior of the shop is much bigger than it looks to be from the outside. Past the racks full of fabrics and sample designs, are mannequins.

Braxton briefly eyes up the cloak draped over a female mannequin, caught on the shining rubies on the clasp. He makes note of it and instead walks on to the child sized mannequins further in back, each decorated in different kinds of outfits.

“What do you think, Harry?” He asks the child in his arms.

Harry glances around the options, like he’s truly considering them. He points immediately over to the mannequin dressed in black suited robes with a golden cape hanging around the shoulders.

“That’s a bit much.” Braxton says. Though he does like how the suited robes look. Might be too much for Harry to wear at his age, but he’s sure Lady Elizaveta would be able to throw something like it together for Harry. No golden cape, though.

Eventually, Lady Elizaveta comes out in her bright yellow robes talking to her client. It’s an older witch, who she kisses goodbye and tells to come back soon.

Braxton waits for the witch to come to him. When she does, she’s flashing her teeth in a fat smile.

“Lord Braxton! Back again so soon?” She greets, as cheerful as ever.

“Harry’s already growing out many of his things.” Braxton says. “I would like to order a set in the next general size up, to be delivered next month.”

She nods. “Of course, darling. How about we go look at my books, hm?” She offers, already turning around for Braxton to follow.

He leaves _Fair Lady’s_ missing some gold and silver, but a receipt for Harry’s next wardrobe in his pocket with the promised delivery date scribbled onto the corner.

The rest of the shopping trip passes easily. Braxton orders liquor from _Lizard & Goose Booze_ and meat from his butcher. He takes Harry to the toy store at the end. He lets Harry down on his wobbly legs and helps him walk through the aisles, to pick out a toy. Harry chooses a shiny gold and black train set, which the clerk says has been very popular since they got it in.

Braxton has Harry back in his arms before he leaves the toy store. He’s barely three steps down the road back to the Floo pit when he meets the dark eyes of a wizard standing outside of the bookshop.

Sirius Black.

The man recognizes him immediately, or at least the boy in his arms. He comes rushing out into the crowd, but Braxton pushes through with a bit more force than usual to hide himself before he can be caught.

_July 29th, 1981_

Harry falls ill on the 24th of July. On the second day of puking and coughing, Braxton calls a Healer in from St. Mungo’s. They diagnose him with a viral infection and give Braxton the order slip for potion cures from a mediwitch. On the fifth day, Harry hasn’t gotten very much better. He calls the Healer in again, for another visit.

“Has it been keeping down the medicine?” Healer Johnson asks, pressing a finger into the side of Harry’s thin neck.

“Most of it.” Braxton says. “We had some trouble. He’s been keeping all of it down now, but at first it was hard.”

“His pulse is weak.” Johnson says. “Has he been drinking water?”

Braxton nods. Then he confirms it verbally, remembering that the Healer isn’t looking at him.

“It’s just taking some time to pass.” Johnson decides. “Continue giving him the medicine. As long as he’s keeping it down, he’ll be fine, but it’s going to take more time. A viral infection is hard to beat back, Lord Braxton. It’s nothing magic can make simply disappear. A muggle child, or a weak child, would be long gone. But Harry’s strong. He’ll make it.”

“Are you sure it’s just a viral infection?” Braxton asks. “Could it be-“

“It’s not Dragon Pox.” Johnson says. “I understand your fears, but if he would’ve gotten it, he would’ve gotten it much earlier than this.”

“I’ve read that the Pox can lay dormant for some time.” Braxton says.

“Not in anything alive. Now, Lord Braxton, I need you to relax. Harry’s ill, but he’s going to be fine. My word, as a Healer.”

_July 30th, 1981_

Braxton sends out the letters canceling Harry’s birthday celebration. He spends the entire day sitting by Harry’s crib, listening to the boy’s shaky breathing.

_August 4th, 1981_

Healer Johnson refuses to come again. He writes to Braxton, telling him that Harry just needs more time to get over the illness.

_August 6th, 1981_

Harry coughs for thirty minutes straight. Braxton swears he can’t hear Harry breathe briefly after the fit. He writes to another Healer, this time.

_August 7th, 1981_

Martha Flint is a young Healer, but not acquainted with St. Mungo’s. She runs a private medical practice. Braxton is referred to her by Narcissa after he writes to her asking about anyone she might know, someone who is good at what they do.

She picks Harry up out of his crib and then puts him back down.

“It’s bad.” She tells Braxton. “I’m going brew him a week’s worth of medicine and send it to you tomorrow. If the potion doesn’t get rid of his illness, there won’t be anything else to do.”

“I don’t understand.” Braxton says. “What does he have? No one’s told me what he has.”

“Muggles call it a flu.” Flint explains. “He could’ve picked up the illness anywhere. Sometimes, it takes a while for it catch up and make its victim sick. It’s a particular strain of it. I’ve only seen it a couple of times before, personally, but it’s awfully common for muggles. Not so much for us. Our bodies aren’t as used to this strain, so we get sicker from it.”

“Strain?” Braxton asks, even more confused.

“It’s a virus, sir. It’s hard to explain. I’m using muggle terms, see, because it’s a muggle disease.” Flint says. She smiles softly. “I give you my word, Lord Braxton, Harry will be well on his road to recovery this time next week.”

Braxton thinks about the last Healer. He isn’t so sure, but he doesn’t think he has much of a choice. So, he just sighs and nods. “Okay.”

_August 13th, 1981_

Harry is giggling loudly after being sick for over twenty days. Braxton feels like he can’t remember the last time he heard the boy make so much noise. His eyes water, just a little, when Harry wants to be picked up and demands it by swinging his arms.

* * *

** Part Three: Sirius Black **

_July 10th, 1981_

James and Lily Potter died from a particularly rare strain of Dragon Pox. The Healers at St. Mungo’s tried and failed to cure them in time, before complications from the illness caused their death. They were hospitalized in quarantine by the time their son turned three months old. They died shortly after. The Ministry of Magic sent a team of Aurors to burn their cottage in Godric’s Hollow down, to make sure the rare strain didn’t spread. Their son, Harry, was briefly quarantined until St. Mungo’s were sure he wasn’t sick, too. He was released and given to his godfather, Sirius Black.

Sirius Black loved his godson. He forced himself to shake off the devastation of losing one of his best friends, because he had a baby to raise. A boy who lost both of his parents before he ever got to hold them. He worked a little less, didn’t go on quite as many missions, the war became less important to him. Because he had Harry, whose big green eyes were so much like his mother’s but Sirius swore the giggles he made reminded him of an absolutely delighted James.

The happiness that Sirius took time to brew was dumped mercilessly when he decided to ask his friend, Remus, to babysit Harry while he went on a mission. It wasn’t the first time he had one of his friends watch Harry for him. Around the full moon it was Peter Pettigrew, but mostly it was Remus Lupin. Remus had stood by Sirius after the death of James. Peter has mostly fallen off the map since, broken in his own silent way.

Someone found out Sirius had left Harry with a werewolf. Within days, Harry was taken away by Ministry officials and he was slapped with a week’s stay in Azkaban for endangering a magical child.

Sirius cried when he came home to a quiet house.

Soon after, Sirius petitioned the Ministry to return guardianship. He hired people to fight the case for him. He spent a lot of gold, trying to prove that he was still worthy to raise a kid. It got sent the Wizengamot’s Lower Court eventually, but the woman in pink sitting up at the front tutted and told him, “No.” 

So, Sirius began to write to Harry’s newest guardian: Braxton Rosier.

Braxton was Sirius’ senior by only three years, but he never knew the other wizard well. They were in different Houses while in Hogwarts. Occasionally, he saw Braxton at family gatherings around the holidays. When Druella and Cygnus Black hosted their seasonal parties and invited the family, Druella invited her brothers from the Rosier family and their children while Cygnus invited his sister and her children. He knows who Braxton Rosier is, but he just never bothered to actually know him.

Sirius sent a letter a day. At first, he begged for Braxton to sign guardianship back over. Then, after a month of no responses, he began to beg to at least be a part in Harry’s life.

Still, Sirius was denied even a response. He began to wonder if Rosier was even reading his letters. If even opening them.

He contemplated sending a Howler, but Remus advised him against it. It probably wouldn’t help his case very much.

About a week ago, Sirius had gone to Diagon Alley. He was going to get the supplies for Remus’ next monthly dose of Wolfsbane Potion. As he exited the apothecary, he spotted Braxton Rosier. He wouldn’t have known the wizard, who looked so different from how Sirius last remembered him, but he definitely recognized Harry.

Little Harry, so much bigger than Sirius had last seen him.

Braxton’s arm was curled possessively around Harry, the boy clutching tight onto the wizard’s sleeves. His eyes were as baby big as when Sirius last saw them, as clear green as before. Harry had been looking around Diagon Alley in wonder, trying to watch everything happening at once.

Harry was dressed up like a little pureblood heir. Braxton held him like a mother would, rather than a pureblood father.

Sirius remembered the look on Braxton’s face when he finally saw Sirius pushing through the crowd to try to get to them. He remembered Braxton’s face when he turned away and quickly pushed through, vanishing into the swarm of witches and wizards, effectively vanishing.

Suddenly, Sirius understood.

Wizards like Braxton didn’t exist like anyone Sirius is close to. Sirius had let himself forget so much of pureblood culture and tradition. Seeing Braxton and Harry, it made Sirius remember.

Harry isn’t just Harry Potter anymore. Harry is Harry Potter, the ward of a pureblood lord. Not just any pureblood lord, too. The Rosier family is an ancient and noble house, just as sacredly pure as the Black family. Not as incredibly wealthy or powerful, but just as filled with old traditions. The way Harry was held by Braxton, it told a deep story.

Sirius had wondered, shortly after, how long it would be before Braxton Rosier declared Harry to be his heir.

Sirius knows, now, why Braxton doesn’t return his letters. Braxton doesn’t ignore him because of how he left Harry with a werewolf, but because Sirius is how he is.

Braxton is undoubtedly bestowing lessons of pureblood tradition and supremacy on Harry, even now though Harry can’t understand those lessons yet. Sirius disowned those traditions and he got blasted off of his family’s tree. By name and blood, Sirius is a Black and a pureblood, but Sirius isn’t worthy enough in Braxton’s eyes. He goes against everything Braxton supports and upholds, after all.

It’s the Tenth of July and Sirius watches the fireplace while Remus quietly works in the kitchen, a potion cooling on the counter and food cooking on the stove.

“I think I’m going to write my brother.” Sirius speaks up.

Remus doesn’t seem to hear him, but he does peak out from the kitchen. “What?” He asks, confused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“It’s nothing.” Sirius says. “I’m just thinking.”

“Oh. Okay.” Remus seems hesitant, but he’s pulling from the doorway to return to the stove in order to stir the stew.

_July 31st, 1981_

Sirius doesn’t write to his brother until after he and Remus light a candle stuck on top of a cupcake in honor of Harry’s birthday. Neither of them blow out the candle, but watches the wax melt over buttercream frosting while they silently sit at the kitchen table. When the flame finally goes out, Remus picks up the cupcake and throws it again before cheerfully saying, “I think I’m going to make us penne for dinner.”

They’ve both heard the rumor that Braxton Rosier’s ward has become ill. From a friend of a friend of Harry’s Healer, the word has traveled. Harry’s sick and he’s been sick for a while. The Healer is, apparently, not entirely certain that the boy is going to make it. Sirius has had the idea of Harry dying without Sirius ever being able to see him again, without ever being able to say a proper goodbye, rattling around his head since Kingsley Shacklebolt told him about it at the last Order meeting.

The night of Harry’s birthday, Sirius sits down at the desk crammed in the living room and begins to write a letter to his brother.

He hasn’t spoken to Regulus in a long time, but he knows if anyone could help him seem more proper to a pureblood lord, it would be his little brother.

_August 3rd, 1981_

Regulus wrote back fast. He tells Sirius to meet him at a small café in Diagon Alley, at noon.

Sirius hasn’t seen his little brother since he graduated from Hogwarts. Regulus looks more like their dad than Sirius ever did. Regulus looks regal and aristocratic, dressed in fine robes, twisting a spoon around a cup of tea across from Sirius like it hasn’t been actual years.

“I wish you wrote me because you wanted to see me, instead of wanting to use me.” Regulus finally says.

“Would you have written back?” Sirius asks. “I’m a bloodtraitor, remember?”

“You are.” Regulus says. “That’s why mother doesn’t want to see you and why father doesn’t correct her when she says you’ve been disowned.”

Sirius swallows. “I have been disowned.”

“No.” Regulus corrects. “Mother might have blasted you off of the family tree, but father still has you as his heir. Believe me, we’ve both been trying to correct him.” He smiles crookedly. “When father dies, you’re still going to be Lord Black.”

“You know I’m going to abdicate.” Sirius says.

“Not if you ever want to see Harry again.” Regulus puts the silver spoon down on a napkin. He hooks his finger into the cup handle. “You wrote to me because you want Harry back. And, I replied because you’re still the Black family heir. You,” He lifts the cup. “Get to decide my fate when father dies. I’m only the second born.”

Sirius snorts. “No brotherly favors here, huh?” He asks.

“Sirius, we haven’t been close since we were boys.” Regulus says. “Do you want my help?”

“I do.” Sirius says.

“Well, if you ever want to see Harry again, you have to write father. Reembrace the Black family and our traditions. Then, you’ll become the influence Lord Braxton would be okay with on his ward.” Regulus says simply.

“Mother still hates me.” Sirius says.

“She does.” Regulus agrees.

“What about you?” Sirius asks.

Regulus points his eyes down at his tea as he takes a sip, like he’s hesitant to answer. He sits it down and finally, again, looks at Sirius in the eyes. “I don’t hate you.” He says, quieter. “You’ll always be my big brother, Sirius.”

Sirius begins to play with the tablecloth. “I don’t think I can be a pureblood heir, all proper, like dad’s going to want.” He says.

“Sirius, you weren’t always a bloodtraitor. It won’t be hard to take a few steps back.” Regulus says. “What’s more important to you? Your godson, or your desperate need to rebel?”

“I’m not-“ Sirius cuts himself off. “I’m not, how I am, because I just want to rebel.”

Regulus looks like he doesn’t believe him. “Choose what you want more, Sirius. Lord Braxton won’t ever let a bloodtraitor mix with his ward.”

_August 18th, 1981_

“I, Lord Orion, hereby name Sirius Black as my one and only heir.”

“Please, sign here.”

Orion reaches and signs his name across the line at the bottom of the long parchment, while the goblin watches him. The goblin’s eyes track every curl of Orion’s letters, stretching lazily out. He dots the ‘i’ neatly and lays the quill down.

The goblin begins to roll the parchment up. “I will have this officialized by tomorrow, sir.” He says.

Only a couple steps behind Orion is Sirius, watching with a ball in his throat.

“I hope you don’t make me regret this, son.” Orion says calmly. “Regulus has been trying very hard to take your seat as heir and your mother hasn’t been the happiest with me since I told her we were going to officialize this.”

“Dad, I already promised.” Sirius trying hard not to tense up. He feels like he’s doing a hundred steps back, like he’s a little first year at Hogwarts waiting to be sorted all over again. “I’ll uphold the honor of the Black name.”

“I hope you will.” Orion says.

The goblin holds a small, shiny brass key out and Orion takes it with a small nod. Orion hands the key out to Sirius.

“What’s this?” Sirius asks, confused.

“The key to the heir vault.” Orion says. “It’ll do you well to study the materials within. Every Black heir should know the knowledge within before they ascend to Lord Black.”

Sirius takes the key, rubbing his thumb over the smooth side.

“Now, I think you should come sit and have dinner with the family. Your mother would be delighted to have you.” Orion says.

“Don’t lie.” Sirius says, but Orion just smiles and gestures for him to open the door while the goblin quietly seals the roll of parchment.

* * *

** Part Four: Yule at the Malfoy’s **

_December 24th, 1981_

Christmas Eve.

Braxton Rosier sits quietly in a large armchair, with a glass held in his left hand half-full with mead. A very traditional drink for the holiday, though the name could be anything depending on who you ask in the room. Ask the old Malfoy mumbling to himself in a wheelchair, it would be Saturnalia. Ask Bellatrix Lestrange, it would be Yule. To Braxton, it’s simply Christmas Eve. The winter holiday is the same, no matter the name, because the traditions are exact.

The largest drawing room at Malfoy Manor has been completely transformed. In the center of the room, roars a large fire. A wild boar roasts above, tended to quietly by a half-dozen House Elves. Barrels full of mead and beer are held in thick, iron racks. Each barrel with a spout, of course. A table full of mugs and glasses sit beside the racks. There’s a large wooden table set up at the farthest side, with two wooden benches set up and two large chairs set up at the front. There will be bread and assorted vegetables set up when the boar is done. They will eat off of wood plates, but still use proper silverware and glasses.

Harry is sitting with the other children. There’s many more present than Braxton honestly expected.

There is, of course, Draco Malfoy sitting close to Harry. The girls the same as them, Pansy Parkinson and Victoria Rosier, are playing with the same assortment of toys they had gotten from the gift pile to share. Nymphadora Tonks sits alone, near her mother and trying to juggle marbles while her hair morphed in color and texture. Felix Rosier looks tempted to try to talk to Nymphadora, but instead he twiddles his thumbs and looks around nervously. Luna Lovegood, still an infant, is curled in her mother’s arms while her father eagerly talks to his cousin, Lucius.

There are many pureblood present. Braxton is impressed by Narcissa Malfoy’s ability to pull so many into the same room together. As of yet, there hasn’t been a single fight.

The most shocking thing about the holiday at Malfoy Manor is Sirius Black, sitting quietly by Lord Orion who is loudly telling Rodolphus Lestrange about the complexities of proper owl breeding.

A cousin, Vincent Rosier, comes to him with a mug full of beer. He sits down beside Braxton before he begins to talk.

“Are you as surprised as I?” Vincent asks.

Braxton turns his head and looks at his cousin. The other wizard has dark bags under his eyes. His brother, Evan, was killed not too long ago by Ministry officials. The memory still stings. Evan was only eighteen when an Auror struck him down.

“I am very surprised.” Vincent continues without a response given to him. “Sirius was never one for this type of thing, surely you remember, but I’ve heard he’s living well up to the Black name. He’ll be Lord Black before long. Lord Orion is eager to retire, I’ve heard.”

“Much like my parents.” Braxton comments. “I wonder what it is, with their generation. All of them have been very eager to give up their lordship.”

“Except for Lord Abraxas, of course.” Vincent reminds.

They both look to the old Malfoy. All but officially, Lucius is Lord Malfoy. Abraxas Malfoy certainly lost his mind long ago, but he refuses to give up lordship.

“The war’s over now, at least. Your lordship will be a lot easier.” Vincent says. “I imagine that’s why they were so eager. So many good purebloods have died.”

“I would rather the war never have ended.” Braxton mutters. “The Ministry has gotten out of control.”

Vincent is silent.

They both, certainly, agree.

More purebloods have died in the Ministry’s intense questioning and persecution since the Dark Lord’s disappearance than during the actual war. Evan Rosier is only one of few casualties. Still, the Ministry only worsens. As more time passes, the punishments lined up have become more intense and cruel. Azkaban imprisonment have turned into the Kiss, for anyone who doesn’t have family who can still pull a couple of strings.

The Malfoy’s escaped, barely. They have Lord Abraxas and his tightly controlled network to thank, though none of them know how the senile man has managed to pull it off. The Malfoy’s have saved, also, the Lestrange family. Bellatrix sits quietly as of right now, but they all know she went on a rampage when news broke about the Longbottom boy.

What Narcissa’s pulled together is a feat to admire indeed.

Even Andromeda Tonks is making niceties. Her husband isn’t the most welcome, but no one is going to start any fights together. It’s for a time of family and togetherness, to forget the wrongs at least for a day, to ignore the chaos and evolving anarchy happening beyond the warm inside.

“Harry’s grown quite a bit.” Vincent comments.

“I can thank Narcissa for that.” Braxton says. “I admit, I didn’t know very much about children. I think Harry still wouldn’t be walking if it wasn’t for her advice.”

“She’s a great mother.” Vincent says. “You can certainly understand how Lucius is lucky to have her.”

“How is Felix?” Braxton asks. “I know he and Evan were close.”

“Better.” Vincent says. “Our parents have mostly kept Felix busy.”

It’s hard to bury a son, Braxton knows. He looks to Harry, giggling with the other children as they knock down a tower of fist-sized blocks. The wood chunks bounce against each other and the floor.

“The Rosiers are strong.” Braxton says.

It doesn’t take too long before everyone is called to the table.

Narcissa and Lucius take the two large chairs at the head of the table, while Lucius’ father levitates himself over to the other end. Draco claims a seat on his mother’s lap. Everyone else simply sits where they can find room, until everyone has crammed over the wooden benches and the House Elves bring out the first course.

Vegetable soup. Harry refuses to take even a spoonful.

Across from Braxton, is Sirius.

Sirius doesn’t talk to Braxton until the soup is cleared and their goblets of water is replaced with mead. The boar is carved by Lucius and the rest is left to the House Elves, who quietly serve the first servings out to everyone while platters full of bread are brought to the table. Sirius doesn’t even talk yet. No, Sirius doesn’t talk until the boar and bread is replaced with tender beef garnished with onions and baked potatoes, and when their drink is now a dark brew.

“How is he?” Sirius asks.

Braxton looks at him in the eye. Harry is on Braxton’s lap, swishing a piece of onion around in his mouth. He doesn’t answer the question, but he says, “You’re very persistent.”

Sirius smiles.

Whatever conversation that may have happened then, didn’t, because Bellatrix screeched loudly at one end of the table and surged across to attack Lucius’ cousin – Xenophilius Lovegood. His wife smiles serenely as her husband topples to the floor with Bellatrix’ hand wrapped tight around his throat.

“Don’t play so rough, dear.” Pandora Lovegood says, so gently.

At the same time, Andromeda stands tall and points her wand at Vincent. A fat bolt shoots out of the tip of her wand and Braxton can’t even tell what curse she’s used because of Bellatrix’ screaming.

Now this, Braxton thinks as Harry begins to cry from the sudden commotion, is a pureblood family holiday.

Braxton doesn’t get to see Bellatrix seethe about wrackspurts and whatever else Xenophilius told her had swarmed the Dark Lord’s brain and made him run off, naked, in a field somewhere. He is, instead, soothing Harry outside of the drawing room and trying to get the scared boy to settle. He does hear about it, later.

He does get to hear Andromeda scream, “You’re a pig, Vincent Rosier!” Before seeing her come out of the room with her daughter’s hand in hers and Ted Tonks quickly rushing off behind her. He watches her robes flutter behind her while she rages to her husband and daughter, swearing to never step foot near anyone here if she could help it.

Harry is still crying when Sirius comes out of the drawing room.

“Can I?” Sirius asks, walking over them.

Braxton hesitates. Something makes him agree – so he lets Sirius take the boy from his arms. Harry still cries, but Sirius begins to sing a strange lullaby. Something about a rocking baby and a tree, softly sang down to the boy. It settles Harry until he’s sniffling and beginning to bumble through a mishmash of words.

“His mum used to sing him that whenever he got upset.” Sirius says, wiping tears off of Harry’s cheeks. Braxton steps forward to take Harry back and Sirius doesn’t fight the move. Harry snuggles into Braxton’s chest, though his eyes are still red and a little watery.

“He’s being doing very well.” Braxton tells him. “You shouldn’t worry about him so much. I’ve been taking good care of him. He’s going to be a great heir.”

“There’s more to life than being an heir.” Sirius says.

Braxton snorts. “Right.” He says, as Sirius’ eyes widen and he shakes his head.

“Wait, no! Listen, okay? I didn’t mean it like that. I just-“ Sirius swallows. “Please. I want to be a part of his life, please. I’m his godfather. Please.”

“You’re persistent.” Braxton says. He peaks around into the drawing room, where Bellatrix is tugging on her hair while Xenophilius’ hair is pet by his wife and daughter. “I suppose you can’t be any worse than the rest of the family.”

He pulls back and looks at Sirius, who is entirely too hopeful. The other wizard is actually beaming.

Braxton hopes he doesn’t regret allowing this. He even lets Sirius hold Harry again, doesn’t even complain when Sirius makes faces to make Harry laugh.

* * *

**Part Five: **The** Weasley Attack**

It was Christmas.

It was not the first time the Ministry had sent an owl requesting Arthur’s attendance over a holiday.

Molly had just smiled and kissed her husband goodbye. Told him, “Don’t be gone for long, okay? I want the family to eat dinner together.”

“Of course, dear.” Arthur said. They kissed again, before he finally left.

No, it definitely wasn’t the first time Arthur had left on a holiday.

Neither of them expecting anything to go too terribly wrong. Maybe one of the kids would hurt themselves, but they were all behaving themselves well. Bill and Charlie were playing chess, Fred and George were making faces at Ginny to make her giggle, Ron was curled up against Percy taking a nap while Percy struggled through a copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_.

Molly set to work on dinner.

She was slicing potatoes and dropping them into water over the stove when she felt the wards ripple.

Knife in hand, Molly paused. She looked out the kitchen window. There wasn’t outside she could see, but that didn’t mean anything.

The war had ended. There shouldn’t be anything to fear. Arthur reassured her that the Ministry was doing its work, Death Eaters have been arrested and sentenced more than the past ten years combined.

Still, the wards rippled like someone had entered. Arthur always came in from the same side, so she could see him from the window by the stove. She saw nothing.

Molly was a great witch, but wards had never been her expertise. She thought about the ripple – tried to figure out if it was friend or foe, tried to tell if the magic was trying to warn her, when she heard someone knock.

“Excuse me! Please! I need help!” A man shouted, from behind the door. “Please!” Fists pounded on the door.

She pulled her wand free.

“Bill!” She whispers furiously, out to where the kids are. “Go hide in the attic. Take everyone with you.”

Her oldest, wide eyed and confused, only nodded. He stood and began to quietly direct everyone away, despite the confusion. Percy held Ron’s hand as they followed Bill up, Charlie picked up Ginny and hooked his hand into Fred’s who hooked his into George’s.

The man behind the door was still pounding his fists on the wood. Molly waited until she couldn’t hear her children walking before she came up to it.

“Who is there?” Molly asked.

“Confringo!”

The door blasted to bits. Molly flew backwards, but her wand kept tight in her hand.

She blindly shot out a spell. “Stupefy!” Then another. “Expelliarmus!”

Through the splinters and blown up dust and dirt, she saw a man emerge with a invisible layer of protection wrapped around him. Both of her spells smacked into the protective bubble, sizzled around until they die.

Molly stood in time to put up a shield of her own when the man casts a spell.

The duel was short. Molly battled fiercely. The man toppled back outside, but as Molly prepared to land a finishing blow – while the man’s wand lays discarded to the side and out of reach – the man threw his hand out and cast a wandless spell.

“Crucio!”

And Molly fell. She did her best to not give the man any satisfaction, tried not to scream. When the spell died off, the man stood above her and, finally, did she recognize him.

Bartemius Crouch Jr., whose eyes were heavy and bagged. He looked wild. “I want you to tell me about your brothers.” He said. His wand was back in his hand.

“My brothers are dead.” Molly spat, trying to stand. She dropped her wand, she realized. She searched for it, but it was useless.

Crouch sent another curse at her.

Maybe because it was cast with a wand, it was worse. Molly couldn’t help the scream that escaped her, couldn’t keep her body from writhing in pain.

The curse didn’t let up for what felt like hours. It was probably only minutes. Crouch stood above her, his wand pointed steadily down.

Molly gasped for breath when the curse died again. Her face was hot and her body was still tingling with the aftershocks of what felt like thousands of needles piercing her skin over and over again.

“Don’t give me so much attitude.” Crouch said. “Listen, I know they knew something about my Lord. And if they were going to tell anyone, I know it would be you.”

“I wasn’t involved with the war.” Molly managed to hiss out. “They wouldn’t have told me anything.”

“I have seen my father’s files.” Crouch snarled. “I know they visited you before they left, before they died. This was after my Lord’s disappearance. All I need you to do is tell me what they told you!”

“They were just saying goodbye!” Molly yelled desperately. Hand trying to reach for her wand. It was only a few inches away before Crouch shouted the curse out again.

It went on and on.

Crouch would let the curse go on before stopping to press about Molly’s brothers. When she had no answer for him, her would cast the spell again. It went on, and on.

Molly couldn’t feel the wards ripple when they did next. She was on the floor, groaning softly and drooling. When Bartemius pressed another question, she couldn’t answer.

Arthur came home with a friend from work, an Auror working on the case with him. It was hard to get out of the Ministry quickly enough.

By the time Arthur saw the blasted door and rushed instead, Bartemius Crouch Jr. was cursing his wife again. She didn’t have it in her to still scream.


	2. Summer of '91

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed

_July 18th, 1991_

Harry’s bedroom is on the second floor. It’s the heir chambers – something his guardian had him move into shortly before the adoption and naming papers were written up. It consists of a small sitting room, a private dining room, the bedroom, a bathroom, and his toy room. It’s roughly half the size of his cousin Draco’s heir chambers, but it’s still much more than his nursery room. That had just been a single room.

He has his harp laid up against a couch in the sitting room, abandoned there since his last lesson and where it’ll sit until his next. His instructor, Lady Delilah, told him to practice at least for thirty minutes a day. He doesn’t at all. Instead, he’s running his fingers over book bindings and wondering what he’s going to try to read next.

As much as Harry would like to disregard his studies entirely, he knows better. At the least, he needs to put effort in somewhere. He just hates the harp. He’s not very good at playing it at all, especially considering he’s been playing since he was six years old. So, instead, he decides to pluck yet another book on pureblood family relations instead of trying to practice the chords.

He picks out a leather-bound book. He actually knows this one really well. It’s the Rosier family line as far back as the 16th century. All purebloods, of course. Near the end of the book, is his name written in.

Harry isn’t a Rosier by proper blood, but his guardian – the man who is essentially his father – is. He’s been a Rosier by name since he was seven, when the documentation was officialized by the goblins at Gringotts. His guardian added Harry to the book and gave it to him to look after and study.

“All pureblood heirs need to know the family tree which they belong.” He was told.

He even has a similar book, but for his blood family, stashed away. He doesn’t study that one so much. He doesn’t have as much interest. He knows his mother was a muggleborn and that the Potter’s are old, good blood.

Harry Rosier-Potter, born the 31st of July in 1980. It also lists his cousins: Victoria Rosier, Marilyn Rosier, and Richard Rosier. It lists Evan Rosier, deceased 1981. It has even Druella Black, a born Rosier who married into the Black family. It lists her three daughters and her daughters’ husbands, but it doesn’t list their children. It lists his grandparents, Dean Rosier with his wife Briar who was originally a Potter.

He sits down cross-legged on the floor and begins to flip through the pages, wondering if he might find someone interesting.

Dean Rosier, born in 1928. He married Briar Potter, then had a son. He has two siblings, Druella and Dante. Their parents are Lector Rosier and his wife Ariana Rosier, who was born a Delmar. Then, before Lector Rosier, are his parents. His mother was a Black. His father’s parents were Abel Rosier and Claudia Rosier, born Claudia Cantu. It goes back and back, stretching until Godfrey Rosier who was born in 1504.

The Potter book goes only as far back as 1620. Still, Harry does study it. His guardian does insist that he know the lineage of both sides of his family.

Neither are exactly interesting, though.

Harry is closing the book when he hears a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in!” He yells, already guessing it’s his guardian’s personal elf – Flea.

Flea is a small, even for a House Elf, creature. Its skin is darker than usual, probably because it’s allowed to sit outside in the gardens during its downtime. Flea walks forward with two letters clutched into its tiny fist. It bows slightly just as it steps inside.

“Sir,” Flea says. “Mail for you. Milord said to bring them to you.”

“Just leave them on the table.” Harry says, standing up. He should find another book. Something, he thinks, to read that could count as studying. “You can go when you’re done.”

Flea does as it is told, then leaves and closes the door firmly but quietly behind it.

One letter he could tell was from his cousin, Draco. Malfoy’s liked to use their colors in their writings very often – the parchment was dyed light blue and Harry could guess the color of the ink would be orange. The other letter, though, was plain parchment. He didn’t know who it could be from.

It’s what makes him leave the book sitting on the shelf, not pushed into a proper slot. He picks up what he knows must be Draco’s letter. It is.

Harry leaves it to the side to grab the other.

His breath catches.

“Hogwarts.” He says, eyes wide now.

Harry rips the wax seal off. In his excitement, he tears a bit of the parchment.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Another page behind it lists the books and supplies he’ll need, but Harry barely glazes over it before he’s rushing out of his bedroom to go find his guardian.

Harry finds his guardian on the ground floor, in the main office.

His guardian is Braxton Rosier – a man with dark hair and pale brown eyes. He took Harry in when Harry was still very young, before he had even turned a year old. Harry’s parents died from Dragon Pox and his godfather lost guardianship when he entrusted Harry to a werewolf, a wizarding man named Remus Lupin. Braxton is Lord Rosier, presiding over the House of Rosier and managing the family’s estate. He works vaguely with the Ministry, but most often with Gringotts. He prefers business to politics.

When Harry storms into the main office, Braxton is talking quietly with another wizard.

“Oh, hello sir.” Harry quickly says, entering the office with barely a knock on the door.

Lord Lucius looks at Harry. “Hello, Harry.” He says, kind. “You should knock.”

“I know.” Harry says. “But, it’s really important this time, I swear.” He holds up his letter to his guardian.

Braxton takes it and scans over the front page. “Lucius was just telling me Draco received his letter this morning before he left.” He says.

“He could do his shopping with my wife and son.” Lucius says. “I’m sure Harry would enjoy it.”

“His godfather asked to take him when the letter came.” Braxton says. “I already told him yes.”

Harry beams at Lucius. “Sirius promised to get me my first familiar.” He says.

“Oh?” Lucius looks down at the boy, smiling. “I recommend an owl. It’s very practical.”

Harry scrunches up his nose. “I was thinking something, like, cool.”

“Nothing too exotic, please.” Braxton says, folding the letter up. “I’ll send this to Sirius, so he has the list when he takes you.”

“Uh huh.” Harry hums, not really caring, just happy about the thought of leaving to go to Hogwarts. Soon, he’ll be able to do magic.

Lucius and Braxton share a glance, unnoticed by Harry.

“Tell me, Harry,” Lucius begins. “Have you given any thought about coming with us to Germany before you leave for school?”

“It’ll be okay.” Harry says, shrugging. He does want to go, though only because Draco had told him that his family sees a Quidditch game before they leave. He’s heard the local teams in Germany are amazing. “I would like to go. Yeah.”

“I think the two of them will have fun together.” Braxton says. He’s talking to Lucius. “How is Narcissa?”

“She hates sending him away, but it’s a must.” Lucius says. “I contemplated Durmstrang, but she dislikes the idea of him going so far away.”

“Whoever the head of Durmstrang is, probably better than Dumbledore.” Braxton snorts. “That senile old man wore pink robes to the last High Wizengamot meeting, I heard.”

Lucius’ face clenches in a held back scowl. “I know.” He says tightly.

Harry pays barely any attention to them. Once he realizes they’re starting to talk about the boring adult stuff, he chirps goodbye and leaves the office.

_July 21st, 1991_

In the 12th to 13th century, most of the manors and castles belonging to wizarding families in Great Britain were built. The original land was obtained, either through battle or purchase, previously, but the massive buildings weren’t built until roughly around then. The Ministry of Magic still has documentation from as far back as 1259 about a wizard contracting a group of muggle masons to work on the interior of his castle off the coast of Scotland.

It doesn’t need to be said that these buildings are an echo of a time long gone.

Sirius was born in Boar Castle. His first wail echoed in the great hall while the night sky shined through the massive windows near the ceiling. His parents moved from the castle shortly before his younger brother was to be born, to another old property owned by the Black’s. 12 Grimmauld Place isn’t as old or big, but much more suited for a pureblood family in the 20th century. Boar Castle is three times as big as Malfoy Manor, meant to house basically a small army and a village’s worth of servants.

Times have certainly changed.

Rosier Manor is another echo of a time long gone. When Sirius steps into the entrance hall, he finds himself looking up at the iron chandelier hanging high from the ceiling. The Rosier’s were never as wealthy as influential as the Black’s or Malfoy’s.

But, the family’s certainly climbing the ladder.

Sirius thinks about Braxton Rosier as he follows a small House Elf to his godson.

He still doesn’t know the other wizard well. They normally just talk about Harry. He’s their only concern with each other. If it wasn’t for Harry, they would never talk. Most of what he really knows about Braxton is from their interactions as children and from what he hears through the grapevine.

Like – Braxton Rosier is buying out the Ogden Firewhiskey Company out from under the Ogden family. The patriarch died and the patriarch’s second wife put it up for sale through Gringotts. Lord Braxton is ‘good friends’ with the goblin in charge of the selling, so he’s putting a low bid in and all that’s left is for the papers to be signed. He also knows the patriarch’s son is trying to buy it, throwing higher and higher amounts out, but the goblin is turning down every one so far. It’ll be finalized by the end of the week.

Sirius’ brother, Regulus, says Ogden Firewhiskey Company isn’t the only thing Braxton is buying through his connections in Gringotts.

Rosier Manor isn’t any indication of anyone who had extreme wealth or power throughout their line. Sirius wonders what’s made Braxton so different.

The House Elf leads him into the main hall.

Harry’s sitting at the edge of one long, large table. An assortment of silverware and dishes is set up in front of the boy. A wizard, Rafael Rowle, Harry’s etiquette tutor, is talking.

“Remember Harry, a demitasse is used for expresso or Turkish coffee.” Rowle says, holding up a small mug. He picks up a larger mug and continues, “This cup can be used for tea or other kinds of coffee.” He sets both back down. “Please pick out the spoon to use to mix sugar and cream into the tea or coffee.”

Harry picks up a small spoon and holds it up. “The teaspoon, sir.” The boy says.

Rowle sighs. “That is the demitasse spoon, Harry. We’ve been over this. Now, please put it down. We’ll continue this for our next lesson.” He says. “Your godfather is here.”

Sirius waves just as Harry looks over. Harry beams and jumps off of the bench and comes rushing forward to give him a tight hug.

“Padfoot!” Harry yells happily, short arms unable to reach completely around Sirius though the boy certainly tries.

“Hey, kiddo.” Sirius ruffles the young wizard’s hair.

The wizard tutor walks up to Sirius and nods respectfully. “Lord Black,” He says. “Perhaps you could help Harry. You were an excellent student when you were his age.”

Sirius holds back a snort. He just smiles. “I don’t think I’m a good teacher. Maybe Harry just needs a bit more time. He’s only ten.” He says.

“He’s good, but he’s far from perfect.” Rowle sighs. “One day, I’m sure.” He bids Sirius and Harry goodbye. Before he leaves, he reminds Harry to begin reading a book he gave him.

Harry huffs as soon as Rafael Rowle is gone. “I hate my studies.” He complains.

“I know.” Sirius says. “But you’ve got to learn them.” Not really, but all he needs is to say that and let it find its way back to Braxton. “Come on, kid, let’s go. We’ve got a lot to get from Diagon.”

He holds his hand out for Harry to firmly hold onto, but Harry just attaches himself to Sirius’ side like a very large parasite.

Sirius apparates them off of the grounds, taking them to right outside the Leaky Cauldron. Harry’s clutching to his side tight when they arrive, shaking and looking like his skin might start matching his eyes. Sirius always forgets how much Harry hates Apparation. He gives Harry a moment to catch himself before bringing him inside the bar.

Mid-July, business is good.

The barkeep and owner, Tom, is working happily and quickly when they walk in. There isn’t an open seat up at the bar. The many tables are crowded, too, with witches and wizards. Everyone talking and gossiping. Now this, not some pureblood family gathering that’s more chaotic and meddling than a mother in law wearing white on a wedding day, is Sirius’ crowd.

Many people recognize Sirius as he walks through, Harry still happily attached to his side and walking fast to match Sirius’ long steps.

Tom greets Sirius. “Milord!” He chortles. “Come, there’s a seat opening up!” He gestures to a older witch quietly packing up her things at the middle of the bar counter.

“Can’t today, Tom.” Sirius says, smiling. “Taking my godson out shopping for his supplies.”

“Speaking of!” A patron loudly exclaims. “You wouldn’t believe who came through today!”

“The Boy-Who-Lived!” Someone else throws in.

“He was so tiny!”

“Not as tiny as that one.”

“Merlin, are children just shrinking?”

“Maybe we’re still growing!”

“That’s ridiculous, Crockford!”

Harry winces. He doesn’t really like all the yelling, or ‘loud talking’ as Sirius calls it, when it’s coming from everyone around him. The Leaky Cauldron is already loud enough. There’s a group of people playing instruments to an upbeat tune in the corner, feet slamming hard into the floor, while people look on and sing along, throwing knuts and sickles into a large top hat. Two wizards are angrily screaming at each other over a chess board. And now, the people at the bar are loudly talking about the Boy-Who-Lived.

He doesn’t know what could be so great about Neville Longbottom. There must be something, he figures, otherwise there would still be a Dark Lord.

Sirius tugs Harry along after he finishes a brief talk with Tom and some of the patrons.

“Too bad, maybe if we came a day earlier you would’ve been able to meet him.” Sirius comments as they walk out onto the main road of Diagon Alley.

Harry frowns and looks up at his godfather. “Who?” He asks, confused.

“The Boy-Who-Lived.” Sirius says. “I knew his parents, you know. Good people. It’s a shame how they passed.”

“They were murdered.” Harry supplies. “But a lot of people were.” He pauses. “Why did Neville Longbottom survive the Dark Lord?” He asks. “No one’s ever said.”

“Well, no one knows.” Sirius admits. “Miracles happen, Harry. Some kids are just strong.” He looks down at Harry. “People used to wonder the same about you, you know.”

Harry knows what Sirius is talking about. The way his blood parents died – James and Lily Potter – so soon after he was born. He should have caught the Dragon Pox, the Healers were surprised he hadn’t come ill. He should have died the same, but he didn’t. He lived – he lives on, now, now the last of the Potter family.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Harry says. “I know why I lived. I was just lucky.”

“Well,” Sirius says slowly. “Who is to say Neville wasn’t just lucky?”

Harry stays silent at that. He doesn’t get it, not at all. Maybe he will when he’s older. Maybe Neville is just a freaky powerful boy. Harry guesses he’ll see if that’s true at least. Neville Longbottom is in his year at school.

“I got your list somewhere…” Sirius digs his hand into his pockets, ruffling through until he pulls up the ruffled piece of parchment. He unfolds it and flattens it out on his palm. “Alright. Let’s get going.”

“What’s first?” Harry asks.

“I think we’ll get your uniforms first.” Sirius decides. “We best go to Madam Malkin’s for everything, I know they carry everything we’ll need.”

They walk down the main road quietly, pushing through the thick crowd of people. Harry keeps himself tight to Sirius’ side, but as they walk he has to pull some away so that they can move a little more gracefully.

Harry doesn’t go to Madam Malkin’s very often. His guardian prefers the Fair Lady’s. Lady Elizaveta has been making and tailoring his clothes since he was a baby, basically. The only time they’ve gone anywhere else, is because his guardian was trying to find cheap things he wouldn’t mind so much if Harry ruined.

“Madam Malkin’s is going to be the only place in Diagon with enough inventory, since it’s the summer and all.” Sirius says. “I hope we’ve come early enough in the summer that she won’t be too busy. When I was your age, in my first year, we waited until the week before.”

“It was busy?” Harry asks.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Sirius says. “Diagon Alley is close to what it was, before the war, but…” He trails off. “It’s still not the same.”

Harry’s heard stuff like that before. Like, there just weren’t as many witches and wizards around as they used to be. Dead, or far away now. Everyone has at least one person in their family who died from the war or the effects of it.

He wishes Sirius didn’t get so sad, all the time. Mostly, his godfather is happy, but sometimes he seems just sad.

Sirius and Harry walk into the clothes shop. Luckily, it’s not very busy at all. There’s only a few other people inside getting help. The three others all look to be Hogwarts age, too. A worker helps him up onto a stool and pulls plain black robes over him.

While she fastens it tight and begins to push pins into fabric, Harry looks over to Sirius and makes a face.

“Don’t worry kid, it’ll be over quick.” He promises. “Merlin.” He looks Harry down, smiling. “I wish your parents were here to see you, kid. This is a real big thing.”

Harry looks away, frowning. He thinks he would rather have Braxton here, but he knows that Braxton’s busy. He has a lot to do, all those pureblood lord things that has to be done. He doesn’t know who his parents are, beyond what the family trees say. He sighs.

It doesn’t take very long before the worker is done. She pulls the robes from him and uses the measurements to pull robes out of the back. They wait roughly ten minutes before she has all five sets ready for him, neatly folded and put away into bags.

“I think you need a cloak, too.” Sirius comments. “Do you guys have any cloaks?”

The worker opens her mouth to respond, but Harry does first.

“Braxton ordered me a new cloak from Lady Elizaveta.” Harry says. The worker’s mouth snaps shut. “It’s really pretty and I have tons of other cloaks. I’ll be fine.”

Sirius chuckles. “Alright, okay.”

“Will be there be anything else, sirs?” The worker asks kindly.

“A pair of dragon hide gloves.” Sirius says. “Plain set, please, Hogwarts standard, first year one size.”

The worker grabs the gloves, wraps them, and puts them into the bag with the robes. Sirius pays her and they leave.

Sirius holds both of the bags in his left hand, while he opens the door for Harry to exit first.

“I think we should get my books next.” Harry says, looking up at his godfather as they re-enter the traffic on the main road.

They get Harry’s books. Then, Sirius buys Harry a telescope. He has to beg for a big gold one, because Sirius wanted to get him a smaller, plain one. “It’s a little much for Hogwarts Astronomy.” Sirius says, but Harry pouts and Sirius sighs. Harry gets the pewter, standard size 2 cauldron, but he also gets a small gold cauldron that Sirius tells him he won’t have any use of. He gets brass scales and a set of crystal vials, too.

After almost two hours, Sirius finally decides to break for lunch.

They go right back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry sits down across from his godfather and scoots his stool closer to the table. “I want the chicken and mushroom pie.” He tells Sirius, who just smiles and nods.

It’s his favorite thing to get at the Leaky Cauldron.

An older witch wearing muggle clothes underneath a set of pale pink robes takes their order. She smiles warmly at Sirius and leans over the table when she takes his order. Harry swings his feet and when she looks at him, he throws his biggest smile and asks for the tea of the day.

“Of course, sweetheart.” She chuckles. She glances at Sirius. “Be careful with that one, he’ll be worse than you.”

Sirius blushes faintly underneath his beard and nods. She laughs, but it isn’t a good belly laugh, it’s one that makes Harry think of sparkles and tremoring chimes.

She brings Sirius a glass of firewhiskey and Harry a cup of Assam tea. She pats Harry’s cheek and tells him, “You’ve got the eyes of one of those muggle thespians.” She says.

“I don’t know what that is.” Harry says honestly.

She laughs the same as she did before. “I know, sweetie.” She doesn’t seem to have the need to explain herself, before she walking away like she’s floating. The ends of her pink robes moving soft across the dirty floor.

Sirius chuckles. He sips his firewhiskey and says, “I guess I will have to be watching you.”

Harry just looks at him, even more confused now. “I don’t really understand.” He says. “Honest!”

“I know.” Sirius laughs again, a little louder. “You’re just a kid, yet. Merlin. You’ll give James’ reputation a run.”

James. “Like my…Dad?” Harry asks, leaning forward. “What does that mean?” His godfather is always happy to talk about his blood parents.

This time, he finally gets an answer.

“Your dad was a big of a…Uh, he was a real handsome lad.” Sirius explains. “There was a period there, before he became real serious about your mum, that he was going after someone new every week. You look an awful lot like him,” That Harry’s heard a lot. “But you do have your mum’s eyes.” Harry’s heard that even more.

He remembers, suddenly then, Draco’s godfather, Severus Snape. The greasy man who didn’t talk to him very much, originally, but always stared at him. He knows Snape knew his mother, but he doesn’t think Snape knew his blood father very much. Harry asked him once, a while ago, about his mother. Snape said she was a beautiful, kind witch then told Harry to be like her. And that was that, mostly because Draco had gotten bored and demanded to go play.

“Yeah.” Harry says. He blows the steam off of his tea before taking a gulp. It burns down his throat and Harry makes a happy hum.

After earing, Harry and Sirius grab their bags and leave back out to the main street. The waitress ruffles Harry’s hair and gives him a biscuit. He nibbles it on as they walk down the street, pushing through the crowd while Sirius looks down his list.

“Looks like all we’ve got is your familiar and a wand.” Sirius says.

“I want my familiar.” Harry says. “You promised something cool!”

“I did.” Sirius agrees. “Let’s get your wand first, okay? Then we can go pick out your familiar.”

Harry nods, beaming now. He’s excited.

He knows can’t bring anything very exotic or strange to school with him, but maybe the shop will have some cool hybrid like a kneazle he could get.

“Then, we go to Ollivander’s next.” Sirius says. Harry just nods again.

The wand shop is a narrow, shabby building with peeling gold letters over a long, slightly misshapen door. The gold letters do their best to spell out ‘Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.’. In the window display, a single wand lays comfortably over a dusty, purple pillow.

Harry’s never paid any attention to this shop before, if he’s ever seen it. He takes a second to eye up the building before Sirius is pushing him forward and opening the door for him.

The inside of the shop is very dusty, but at least not damp. It smells a little like the tower at Rosier Manor, which is stuffed full of wooden boxes. Seemingly thousands of narrow boxes are piled up upon each other, all the way to the ceiling. Harry guesses they were wand boxes, but he’s amazed there’s so many wands in just one place, waiting for an owner.

The bell rings when Sirius opens the door. Harry walks in first, with his godfather close behind. The door isn’t completely closed before an old man emerges from behind a pile of boxes, like a wall, and stands with a gentle smile behind a tall but not very long counter.

“Sirius Black!” The man beams, likely Ollivander himself. “Ebony, yes, ten and ¼ of an inch long. Now, what was your core?” He hums, nosily tapping a foot, before declaring. “Yes, yes! My apologies, dear boy, it was unicorn hair core. Excellent for a most rebellious, most loyal wand. A good match for a wizard like yourself. Yes, my apologies, so easy to forget, I’ve spent all day looking over a fresh batch of pine wood.”

“Oh, it’s alright.” Sirius says. “Can’t believe you still remember it.”

“I always remember every wand I’ve made and every person I’ve sold a wand to.” Ollivander says kindly. He looks down to Harry. “Ah, let me guess? Mister Harry Potter?”

Harry nods.

“Why, I remember your young guardian’s wand.” Ollivander says. Harry makes a face. “Why, I know, I bet it’s awfully strange to have him be called young, but, him, and Mister Black here, they’re awfully young to an old man like me.”

“How old are you?” Harry asks.

“I’m very old.” Ollivander says, smiling. “Braxton Rosier, yes. Maple wood, twelve and half inches long, with a dragon heartstring core. I remember his very well! He was a hard find, he was.” He nods. “Let’s see if you live up to that.”

Ollivander then measures Harry. It measures about everything that could be measured – the length of his arms, the bridge of his nose, the distance of his ear to the point of his shoulder, and much more. By the time the tape rolls back up, Ollivander is happily beginning to look through one of the towering stack of wand boxes. Ollivander knows the length of nearly every one of Harry’s body parts after all that, Harry figures.

“First to go! Maple wood, exactly eight inches, with unicorn hair.” Ollivander presents the wand out to Harry.

Harry wraps his fingers around the handle of the wand and it’s barely around it for a second before it’s yanked out.

“Won’t do.” Ollivander tuts.

Many more wands follow, with about every kind of wood Harry could imagine. He tries to see a correlation, some sort of understanding from wand to wand of where Ollivander is trying to go, but it seems like the core and wand is different every time compared to the last – like Ollivander doesn’t really know and he’s just yanking out random boxes to see what might happen.

“Alright, my boy,” Ollivander sets out a box. “I think this might be it, yes.” He nods to himself, as he pulls the wand from the box and holds it in an open palm out to Harry.

As Harry takes it, Ollivander says, “Holly wood, twelve inches, with a dragon heartstring core.”

His hand wraps around the wand. It takes a second, and Ollivander is reaching for the wand when, suddenly, a bright burst of golden sparks fly from the tip of the wand.

Ollivander takes a step back, amazed as the brief shower of sparks fade like embers blown from a fire. Then, he smiles. “I guess that one must be it.” He leans down to Harry. “Does it feel alright?” He asks.

“I…” Harry pauses. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sometimes it’s a little hard for a young wizard or wizard to get their first wand.” Ollivander says softly. “The wands can tell things about you that you don’t know yet about yourself. You’re not full yet, Mister Potter, but don’t worry. This wand will stuck by you until you’re ready for your true match.”

As the leave the wand shop, with Harry’s first wand packed neatly back into its box and laid in a small bag, Sirius tells Harry, “Don’t worry Harry, that man runs a little mad.”

Sirius takes Harry to the menagerie, next.

Harry walks into the shop, easily forgetting about Ollivander and everything else as he walks by cages and peers behind bars to meet the eyes of creature after creature.

He walks past a snowy owl and meets the eyes of a black kneazle spotted with grey and white, sitting proudly on a pillow on top of a cage filled with albino rats.

“Hi.” Harry greets it. He holds his hand out, silently asking to pet it. The kneazle doesn’t move away, so Harry lightly scratches its head. “Sirius, I want this.”

Harry’s godfather chuckles. “Are you sure, kiddo? Maybe you’d want something else-“

“I want this.” Harry huffs out, turning his head.

“Okay, okay!” Sirius raises his hands in surrender, but smiling. “Just saying, a kneazle is hard to take care of.”

“I’ll take very good care of it.” Harry says. He turns his head back to the kneazle. “Wish you could tell me if you’re a boy or a girl. I’ll need to figure out a name for you.”

The kneazle just stares at him.

Sirius calls a worker over and asks to purchase the kneazle. After some hassling, they finally get a bag of food, a collar, a leash, and a certificate of ownership that’s more just for show than anything else. Harry carries it all the way home, but he doesn’t come up with a name until late that night – picks it out one of his schoolbooks.

Hedwig.

_July 31st, 1991_

Harry Potter’s eleventh birthday is held in the gardens beside Rosier Manor. Jars filled with multicolored fires are strung up between lampposts and the House Elves fill the firepit with fuel for a small bonfire when the sun sets. Gifts are piled neatly up on a round table, while a long table is set for a small feast once the celebrations begin.

In attendance: Harry’s family from Braxton, from his cousins Carmella and Vincent Rosier with their three children, Victoria, Marilyn, and Richard, as well as his grandparents, Briar and Dean Rosier, and his great-grandparents, Fabius and Lyra Potter. More cousins yet include Felix Rosier with his current girlfriend, a halfblood witch who is humming pleasantly to herself while she helps Victoria braid little Marilyn’s hair by an olive tree. There is also Cygnus and Druella Black, then Narcissa Malfoy with her husband Lucius and son Draco, Bellatrix Lestrange with her husband Rodolphus with their son Betelgeuse. There is Pansy Parkinson with her parents and Luna Lovegood with hers. There’s Harry’s godfather, Sirius, with his roommate Remus. Finally, there is Severus Snape and a small assortment of others that got an invitation and decided to attend on whim.

It’s not as large of a bash as his cousin Draco’s would have been, but it’s still a fair size.

Harry plays with his cousins and friends in a small garden patch, chasing fairies, while the adults quietly mingle and use the excuse of the boy’s eleventh birthday to gossip and drink.

“Luna is getting along splendidly with the other children. I wish you could bring her by more often.” Narcissa is telling Xenophilius.

“I do, too, but our neighbors have fallen on hard times. Luna gets along great with their girl, same age as her of course, and I think it helps. They bond over shared tragedies.” Xenophilius says gently.

“The Weasley’s, yes?” Narcissa asks.

Xenophilius nods.

Narcissa makes a soft noise, a pitiful kind, and shakes her head. The Weasley’s are a sad story, considering how many pureblood children there were. Though the Weasley’s were bloodtraitors, it was still a great loss, if only for the sake of the children.

A couple feet away, Lucius Malfoy was talking with Braxton, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Felix Rosier.

“All I’m saying,” Lucius grits out. “Is that, that old man should be kicked out of his seat. He’s absolutely senile.”

“He disregards tradition.” Felix agrees. “I’m almost worried about sending my children to school with him as headmaster.”

“I’d rather have Harry sent to Beauxbatons.” Braxton admits. “But his godfather convinced me otherwise.”

“I wanted Draco to go to Durmstrang.” Lucius says. “But much the same, only it was Narcissa. She doesn’t want him so far away.”

“Oh, look, Sirius’ pet is playing with the children.” Rodolphus comments.

The wizards all turn and look at where the children are loudly giggling.

Remus Lupin has Harry on his shoulders, shrieking with laughter while he tosses flower petals down at his friends. Draco is tugging at Severus Snape’s robes. The wizards all watch as Snape gives in and bends down to allow Draco to climb up onto his shoulders.

“Good thing none of our parents are here.” Lucius comments. “I think my father might have a stroke.”

They all share a laugh. Indeed, most of their parents are very strict when it comes to public image. They have, admittedly, become more lenient on such things with their children.

Braxton’s parents, Briar and Dean Rosier, look like they don’t like what they are seeing with the children. However, they long since relinquished what power they had when they decided on their early retirement. But Braxton’s grandparents, Fabius and Lyra Potter, look on with fondness. They clearly don’t care, finding it instead enduring to watch.

Sirius is hoisting Betelgeuse up onto his shoulders and allowing the young boy to yank at his long hair like reigns, then.

Braxton can’t help the snort – because he sees the murderous look in Bellatrix Lestrange’s eyes when her ‘dear cousin’ takes her son up.

“Oh my,” Lucius murmurs. “I might have to ask Narcissa to calm her down.”

The wizards begin to laugh again.

_August 7th, 1991_

The Malfoy’s go on an annual trip every summer. So do many pureblood families, really. Many choose a favorite destination and go there once a year. For the Malfoy’s, it’s a resort in Germany in early August. They go and stay for about a week, allowing themselves to relax and enjoy some time away from home. It’s the first time Harry is coming with the Malfoy’s, though he’s had Draco come with him to his family’s trip to Switzerland before.

“You boys will share a room.” Narcissa says as they walk down a wide hallway, on the third floor of the hotel. Both Harry and Draco make a face, but glance at each other and decide it won’t be too bad. They’ve shared a room before. It’s usually night.

They are each given a key to room 330 and allowed to venture inside, to unpack and get comfortable.

“In two hours, we’re going out to dinner.” Narcissa says. “Then, after, we’ll be visiting a gallery. So dress properly, boys.”

Room 330 opens into a large sitting room with two doors, each leading off into a private bedroom each with a bathroom attached.

Still.

“It’s so small.” Draco complains as the door closes. “Especially for two of us.”

“It kind of is.” Harry agrees. “But, I doubt Hogwarts is going to be any better.”

Draco gags. “Father told me we’ll be staying in a dormitory.” He says. “But, Slytherins get three to a dorm, so hopefully we can room up together.”

“But who is going to be our third?” Harry asks.

“Someone…” Draco thinks. “Someone that isn’t annoying, I guess.”

Harry and Draco separate to unpack in their rooms, but leave the doors open so they can shout at each other.

His trunk is sitting at the edge of the bed when he walks into the bedroom. He unhooks the buckles and pushes it open. He wishes they could have a House Elf with or something.

Mostly quietly, Harry works. He puts his clothes away into the wardrobe provided, hanging up his robes and undergarments and other assorted clothes, before he throws himself onto the bed and lets out a soft groan like he had just completed a marathon of sorts.

He hears small footsteps coming to him and so he rolls over, just in time for Draco to stop at the doorway.

“What are you wearing?” Draco asks.

“I dunno.” Harry glances to the wardrobe, the doors on which hanging open. “I think maybe the purple getup that Braxton got me.”

“I’m going to put on my Prussian robes.” Draco says. “Mother got it for me right before we left.”

“Thank mummy.” Harry chirps.

“Do you have anything Prussian? We could match.” Draco suggests.

“No.” Harry says. Honestly, he doesn’t know. He let Flea pack his trunk for him and he wasn’t paying that much attention when putting everything away. “I’m wearing my purple robes.”

“Fine.” Draco huffs. “I guess I can find something purple.” He turns around and stomps off.

“Who said we had to match?” Harry yells after him, sitting up. He doesn’t get a response so he lays back down.

The day goes on nicely, despite Draco needing for them both to match. They walk side by side in their purple robes, between Narcissa and Lucius, and head down to Apparate to the restaurant. The menus at which are entirely in German, but thankfully Narcissa translates for him and Draco. He has to admit he hasn’t been studying his French as he should, because she presses once she realizes he only knows a few phrases in German.

“A young lord needs to know his language.” Narcissa says. “I’ll have to talk to Lord Braxton about that.”

Lucius doesn’t say a word, but does make an agreeing hum when she looks to him for support.

“I don’t know any German or French.” Draco whispers to him, once she begins to press Lucius about what he’s going to have for dinner.

They eat and have dessert before they leave the small, dimly lit building. Narcissa catches a carriage, led by two horses, and has the driver take them to the gallery. Apparently it’s some witch artist, Harry doesn’t really know.

The most fascinating thing about Germany, on Harry’s first day, was the quiet blend between the muggle and magical worlds. At least the town they were at, the wizard-owned buildings simply stood there as easy as ever, next door to the muggle shops and businesses. The gallery itself, filled with slowly moving landscapes hung up on plain white walls, had been above a muggle pawnshop in a magically enlarged flat.

Harry and Draco entertain themselves playing with the hors d'oeuvres – pretzels and a butter cheese spread, which they throw out a window to birds. Towards the end of the night, Narcissa allows them both to sip from her mug of beer. It tastes foul to both of them. The beer rests strangely heavy in Harry’s stomach.

Back in the hotel, just after ten o’clock, Harry and Draco pull the cushions and combine their blankets to create a fort in the sitting area in their room. They fall asleep against each other, underneath a quilt that, by morning time, has fallen over them both.

_August 8th, 1991_

The Malfoy’s and Harry visit a small museum about the Dark Lord Grindelwald and the horrors inflicted by him, including a brief dedication to the many muggles who died from Grindelwald’s meddling of muggle affairs. They eat a small lunch at a tiny café and Apparate into Berlin, where they visit an underground system of libraries built centuries ago by German scholars.

_August 9th, 1991_

Harry and Draco get to spend the day moving through the main wizarding shopping district, once again in Berlin. They bounce store to store, buying up toys and clothes and random shiny objects until they have to stop for a snack. They both order a giant pretzel from a tourist stop while Narcissa and Lucius each enjoy a mug of beer.

_August 10th, 1991_

On the Saturday of the trip, Lucius takes Draco and Harry to a Quidditch game while Narcissa rests for the day. Harry and Draco both grin and Harry cheers when they get to see a Seeker savagely thrown off of his broom by another player.

_August 11th, 1991_

On the Sunday of the trip, Narcissa takes Draco and Harry to a wizard-owned church where they get bored very quickly. Harry nearly dozes off while a man in black talks. After, Narcissa takes them to a magical creature habitat in the Black Forest.

_August 12th, 1991_

They spend the day at the hotel itself. Harry and Draco play with the things they’ve accumulated and go swimming the hot spring in the cave underneath.

_August 13th, 1991_

Narcissa and Lucius take Harry and Draco to an opera. After, they eat an early dinner before attending another gallery – this one, instead of landscapes, is full of moving photographs and people who, in them, shout obscenities. Harry and Draco are told not to say anything they heard the people in the photographs had yelled.

_August 14th, 1991_

After an entire week in Germany. The Portkey they take back to England is a glass bottle with a fading red strip of paper around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, filler content! But some pretty important stuff happened here and, hey, I gotta develop Harry's character a little bit before I start throwing shit at him.


	3. Hoggy Warty Hogwarts

_September 1st, 1991_

Harry wakes up in the early morning to the sound of small feet padding around his bed. When he forces his eyes awake and he sits up, he realizes a House Elf is quietly trying to move his things back into place. He packed last night and, as a result, everything he didn’t plan on bringing had gotten left on the floor or over furniture. The House Elf is picking up everything and quietly putting them into their rightful place, or opening his trunk to add them – Harry notes that it puts a light cloak into his trunk that he hadn’t intended on bringing, but doesn’t really care. It’s not doing any harm.

“Hello, sir. Good morning, sir.” The House Elf greets quietly. “Do you need any assistance this morning?”

“No.” Harry says, rubbing out the old crud in his eyes. He yawns while the elf nods and returns to its work.

He swings his legs over, tucking his feet into a pair of slippers waiting by the side of his bed. He stands up and stretches his arms out, grabbing his wrist with his hand and pushing his arms as far out as he can while bending his back. He relaxes back into a natural posture and sighs softly through his nose.

Hedwig jumps up onto the bed, then. She stares at him, obviously bored. She lets him scratch her head, though, when he reaches for her.

“Breakfast is in the main hall, sir.” The House Elf quietly says. “Milord wants you have a full breakfast.”

Harry scrunches up his nose. He doesn’t think he’s very hungry, not this early, but he guesses he should probably eat.

“Yeah, okay.” He says. “I’ll be there soon. Make sure there’s orange juice for me, please.”

The House Elf bobs its head and breezily leaves Harry’s bedroom.

Harry changes out of his night robes, then, flinging the light material over his bed and moving to his wardrobe to pick out a set of house robes. Hedwig gets up and moves over to sit over his night robes where they lay. She spreads out.

Then he remembers, yeah, that’s right. He’s packed a lot of his things for Hogwarts. There’s not much left in his wardrobe. He pushes around and pulls an old set of house robes from the hanger. He turns it in his hands and moves the light-colored, but considerably worn, fabric around himself. He slowly buttons it, fingers working slow but the buttons pop in easily.

By the time Harry’s shuffling into the main hall, there’s no more steam wafting off of breakfast. He sits down across from his guardian and begins to fill a bowl in front of him with an assortment of fruit.

Braxton Rosier, Harry’s guardian and basically his father, looks up from his cup of coffee and stares at the boy. He prefers tea, but he drinks coffee in the morning. Espresso in a tea cup, with two cubes of sugar and enough milk to make it turn a pale brown.

He’s sitting the cup down, as Harry takes all of the remaining raspberries, and asks, “Are you feeling nervous?”

“A little, I think.” Harry says. “But, Draco’s going to be there. And I know a lot of other kids already, so I think I’ll be fine.”

“I remember my first year at Hogwarts.” Braxton says. “Narcissa’s only a couple years older than me. My first weekend there, she helped me find the owlery so I could write home. Lucius was Slytherin Prefect, at the time. Never could’ve imagined what would happen, when we all grew up.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Draco and I are the oldest, basically.” He says. At least closer in the family.

“Martha Flint’s boy isn’t too far ahead of you.” Braxton continues, like he didn’t hear Harry. “Cato Abbott’s daughter is in your year. There’s a lot of heirs and heiresses going into your year. There’s a lot of potential and possibility there.”

“Right.” Harry stretches, sighing. He uses his fingers, not a spoon, and begins to eat the fruit out of his bowl. “I met Hannah Abbott once. She’s totally boring.”

“One day you’re going to need to choose a wife to continue the line-“ Braxton begins.

“You didn’t.” Harry says.

“That’s different.” Braxton says simply.

“It isn’t.” Harry says.

“Don’t eat with your fingers. What would Lord Rafael say?” Braxton scolds.

Harry pouts, but listens. He wipes his fingers off and picks up a spoon.

After breakfast; Harry finds himself watches a House Elf levitate his trunk out of his bedroom. And Braxton is personally trying to style Harry’s hair with little success – the random waves and curls and straight, sticking-out locks, it’s impossible to properly tame without something to help. A brush always makes it worse. Even though it brushes against his ears and his bangs frame his face, the messiness isn’t naturally weighed down at all.

A bottle of Sleekeazy is partially emptied out onto his head and Harry is forced to stand while his guardian brushes and manages his hair into something a bit more sleek looking. It’s all pulled back, with the exception of a couple stubborn bangs that hang by the apple of his cheeks, into a short tail.

The entire time, Braxton rattles on and on about his memories of being at Hogwarts and listing other heirs and heiresses in his year who must get to know.

“Avoid the bloodtraitors, as well, Harry. They’re purebloods, but they’ll try to fill your head with silly things.” Braxton says.

“I know.” Harry says. “I’m not stupid.”

“Didn’t say you were.” Braxton holds his hands out for a House Elf to come rushing forward to wipe the potion off. “But I’m very serious, Harry. This is your first time out on your own. You need to choose your friends wisely.”

“I’m going to have Draco.” Harry says, folding his arms and turning around to look up into his guardian’s face.

Braxton makes a noise – like an amused grunt, but more yet like a short hum. “You two might not end up in the same House. And a House matters much in Hogwarts.” He says.

“We’re both going to be in Slytherin, watch.” Harry says defiantly. “Where else would we go?”

“Sirius was a Gryffindor.” Braxton reminds. “As were your blood parents.”

“But you were a Slytherin!” Harry says. “It’s way more likely that I’m a Slytherin, like you.”

Braxton raises his, now clean, hands in surrender while a House Elf scurries away to return to his prior duty. “I suppose.” He says. “But don’t be surprised if you aren’t in Slytherin.”

“Don’t be surprised when I am.” Harry shoots back.

Roughly an hour later, Harry is sitting on top of his trunk by the fireplace in the main hall.

Hedwig is in her cage, obviously miffed about having to go inside of it. Harry had to promise her a treat in order to get her inside. He doesn’t blame her, but Braxton wouldn’t let him let her stay free and just follow him. Braxton is standing a short distance away talking quietly to Flea. Its head just bobs along to show understanding as the wizard talks.

They’re waiting for Sirius to arrive so they could leave to King’s Cross together through the Floo.

“You excited?” Harry asks Hedwig.

Hedwig stares at him through the bars. She makes a soft noise, like she doesn’t know. Behind her, her tail flicks once.

“Yeah.” Harry says agreeably. “I don’t know how to feel either. Don’t worry, you won’t have to go into your cage at Hogwarts. Just play nice with the other familiars.”

The fireplace surges to life. Stepping out of the sudden flames is Sirius Black, smiling big. Behind him follows Remus Lupin.

Harry grins and shoots up. “You came!” He says happily and surges forward to give Remus a hug.

He almost never sees Remus Lupin. The werewolf lives with his godfather and had been friends with his parents, but mostly, Harry just knew him like an uncle.

“Hey, kid.” Remus smiles warmly as Harry uses all of his might to squeeze his arms tight around the werewolf, until he gets a small groan of pain. “You’re killing me, Merlin, you’ve got to stop doing that.”

“He’s an old man.” Sirius supplies. He glances to Braxton. “Lord Rosier.” He winks.

Braxton stares at Sirius, expressionless. “Lord Black.” He responds. “How’s your brother? Is he still working for the Minister?”

“He is. Looks like he found his calling.” Sirius replies.

Harry pulls from Remus, finally. “You need to meet Hedwig. She’s the best. She’s a kneazle.” He says and grabs Remus’ hand to tug him over to Hedwig’s cage.

He lets go of Remus’ hand and picks the cage up to show the werewolf his kneazle. “She’s a little upset about being in a cage, but she might get lost on the platform, Braxton said, so, we’ve got to be careful.”

Remus nods. “Of course.” He says, sage-like. “Very smart, Harry.”

Harry beams and sets the cage back down.

“We better get going.” Braxton speaks up. “Otherwise we won’t miss the rush.”

They don’t miss the rush.

When the group enters into Platform ¾, it’s packed. Other students with their families, all saying their goodbyes and some of them even tearful. Harry is firmly between Braxton and Sirius as they walk across, while Remus stays close behind.

“The Weasley’s are here.” Braxton comments from Harry’s side.

He looks up to see where Braxton’s looking. He traces the line of sight to a group of redheads.

A balding man is wiping dirt of a boy’s cheek, a girl clutch tight to his side. There’s a set of twins, completely identical, giggling between each other and shoving each other while an older boy tries to scold them.

“I heard that they’re making him handle even more casework now. Someone in his department quit and they haven’t found anyone to fill the spot yet.” Sirius says. “Merlin and Morgana, I don’t know how he can handle it.”

Braxton’s hand lands on Harry’s shoulder. He looks away, to turn up to his guardian. “You’re very lucky,” Braxton says. “Always be thankful for what you’ve been given.”

“I know.” Harry says. He doesn’t understand. He wonders why they are so pitiful of the Weasley’s. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Braxton show pity to anyone before.

When they get closer to the train, close enough where the space is even more packed than the rest of the station, they stop.

Sirius stops the charm he was using to make Harry’s trunk float beside them. Harry sits Hedwig’s cage down on top and takes a moment to pull a bag of treats from his pocket. He feeds her one through the bars before turning around to start saying his goodbyes.

Braxton is the first – he pushes in, bending down, and giving Harry a hug. It’s brief, but it’s there. He pulls up and stands up straight, hand going to Harry’s shoulder.

“Remember what I’ve said.” Braxton said. “Make smart friends and listen to your professors. It’s always okay to talk to them.”

“I know.” Harry says.

Sirius tells Harry to have fun.

Remus tells Harry to be careful and fixes his robes. “Don’t go running into things without thinking,” He warns. He glances behind him to Sirius and adds, “Don’t be like your godfather, is what I’m saying.”

Sirius sticks his tongue out.

It doesn’t seem like very long at all before Harry’s pushed up against the window in a small train compartment, arms hanging out while he waves at his family.

He’s still waving when the train makes a loud noise – steam beginning to fill up above them. He yells goodbye until he can’t see them anymore, when the train is swallowed by a tunnel.

Harry pushes the window up and moves to let Hedwig out of her cage.

He looks out at bricks flying by at a faster and faster pace. Hedwig jumps up to his lap, so he settles a hand into her fur and slowly pets her back.

It doesn’t seem very long into the train ride when the compartment door slides open. Draco, of course, steps inside – followed by two other boys. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, who Harry know only faintly.

“I knew I’d find you eventually.” Draco says. He walks forward and plops himself down across from Harry. “You know these two.”

“Hello.” Harry says to them.

They both say hello back and sit down, closing the compartment door behind them.

“I heard the Boy-Who-Lived is on the train.” Draco says.

“He is in our year.” Harry says.

“Still.” Draco rolls his eyes. “Seems risky, doesn’t it? Just to allow the Boy-Who-Lived in with us. A lot of people would prefer him dead, you know.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to try to kill him on the way to school.” Harry says. “How did you three meet up?”

“We found a compartment together. All of our families came pretty early.” Draco says. “Right?”

The two of them nod.

“What kind of cat is that?” Crabbe asks. “My grandma has a half-kneazle, looks an awful lot like that one.”

“Hedwig’s a pureblood kneazle.” Harry proclaims. “She’s a bit awful, sometimes, but she’s mostly really nice.”

Hedwig meows, obviously liking Harry’s statement. He scratches her a little behind her ear.

“Father said he’d send along an owl once I get to school.” Draco says. “How about you two?”

“My mum said the same.” Goyle says.

“I didn’t really want a familiar. I don’t want to have to take care of something.” Crabbe says.

“Hedwig is nice.” Harry says. “Better than an owl, I think.” Hedwig meows again. She begins to weakly purr while Harry rubs his pointer finger gently on the top of her head.

The train ride passes nicely with the four of them in the compartment. They talk the entire time, only briefly disturbed when a lady with a trolley knocks on the door and reveals a cart full of candy. They each shuffle through their pockets to find the gold their parents gave them. They all drop a few galleons buying Chocolate Frogs, licorice wands, and the like.

Outside the windows, the countryside is blurring by. Harry lets a Chocolate Frog go and Hedwig jumps after it, a single paw swatting it to the ground. She lands close to it and gives it a sniff. When she licks it, she pulls back and sneezes.

“Don’t like it?” Harry asks, laughing, bending down to pick up the chocolate. He stuffs it back into the wrapping, sitting the card on the bench, and puts it aside.

Draco snatches the card off of Harry’s lap, examining it. “Another Dumbledore.” He complains.

“I’ve got a box full of him.” Vincent grumbles. “He’s a common card.”

“He collects.” Gregory adds. “He has a lot.”

Draco sneers and tosses the card on the floor, watching as the little picture of Dumbledore walk out of frame. “My father says Dumbledore’s mad.” He says.

“My father doesn’t like him, either.” Harry says. “But my godfather says he’s a powerful wizard. They say he’s the only wizard that the Dark Lord ever feared.”

The other brothers become quiet.

“My grandfather says the Dark Lord never feared Dumbledore.” Vincent speaks up. “They say the only reason he’s never killed Dumbledore is because he’s hiding in Hogwarts all the time.”

“Hogwarts is the safest place in the world.” Gregory adds. “That’s what they say.”

“Dumbledore can’t be too powerful.” Harry says. “He’s old. Maybe he was, once, but I doubt he’s still in his prime. He did defeat the Dark Lord before You-Know-Who, but everyone says You-Know-Who is the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries.”

“Since ever.” Draco says. “If he was still alive, he’d definitely control, like, the whole world by now.”

But there was Neville Longbottom and his ability to somehow survive the Dark Lord’s Killing Curse. Not just survive it, but managed to throw it back at only a year old.

Outside the windows, the countryside is blurring by.

Suddenly, the compartment door slides open.

A bushy haired girl stands there. She frowns at them. “Have you seen a toad? A boy lost his.” She says.

“Who would have a toad?” Draco asks, disgusted.

Harry shakes his head. “We haven’t seen anything.” He says.

“Well, if you see anything, try to find me.” She says. The door slides shut, then, and Harry can hear another door open right across from them.

As soon as she’s gone, it seems, an announcement begins to pour out of unknown speakers.

“We’ll be arriving at the station in fifteen minutes. Please leave your items on the train, it will be taken up to the castle with you. Thank you.”

Harry leans down and whispers into Hedwig’s ear. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you on the train. I’ll be taking you with me, no more cages.”

She meows and turns her head to stare out the window.

When the train stops, they cram themselves into the corridor alongside dozens of other students. Harry holds Hedwig in his arms, trying not to get pushed around by the larger students surrounding him.

The air is cold outside. It’s also very dark. Harry hadn’t even realized it had gotten so dark, or so much time had passed from the morning. As if just realizing time had passed, his stomach clenches in hunger.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years! Over here!”

Harry and the other three boys he had sat with in the train join a group of other students to follow a very large man, who was as tall as twice the height of the average man and three times as wide.

He rests his chin over Hedwig’s head and sighs softly, but follows just the same as the rest of the group up a cobblestone path.

They walk for a while. It gets so dark that the only light Harry can make out is the bobbing lantern held in the giant man’s hand. When he looks up, he can barely see the sky. It’s mostly covered by naked tree branches.

Eventually they empty out onto a large patch of damp grass, before a massive lake. On the other side of the water, sitting on the cliff of a small mountain, is a gigantic castle. The many windows are lit up, glinting similarly to the stars in the sky.

“I didn’t think it would be so big.” Harry breathes. It made Malfoy Manor, which was very big, look like it was a hovel.

“Four to a boat!” The gigantic man instructs. He’s distracted briefly and points over to a toad. “Whose toad is that?”

A lightly plump boy bursts forward. “Trevor!” He cries. He plucks the toad up from the ground and holds it tight, like he’s trying to hug it.

Harry figures that must have been the boy who lost his toad earlier.

“Merlin, where’s the Boy-Who-Lived?” Draco whispers next to Harry.

“Well he isn’t going to be wearing a sign.” Harry whispers back.

Harry, Draco, Vincent, and Gregory all pile into a boat together. Hedwig meows in complaint, but sits down on the floor of the boat. When it lurches off the shoreline into the water, she hisses. Her tail goes straight up and flicks back and forth.

“Relax.” Harry murmurs to her. “You won’t get wet, I promise.”

She looks up at him and the look in her eyes tells Harry that she doesn’t believe him at all.

The boats glide over the glossy lake. As they near the castle, it only gets bigger and bigger. Harry can hardly believe it. He’s never seen something so big.

“It’s so beautiful.” Harry says, still looking with big eyes at the castle.

The large man yells, “Heads down!” As the first boats ahead reach the cliff face. Everyone bends their heads as they reach, going through a curtain of ivy that hid a massive opening in the mountain.

The many boats continue to bob as they reach what’s kind of like an underground harbor. Their boat comes to a stop. Harry is the first to leave his boat, followed by Draco, then Gregory, then Vincent. They each step out onto wet rocks and pebbles.

Everyone comes up a passageway carved into the rock, following still after the large man’s lantern. Harry can’t stop looking at everything, amazed, but before he knows it, they are walking out onto smooth, damp grass right beside the castle.

“I wonder how long it took them to build this.” Draco whispers next to Harry. “Father said it took a hundred years for Malfoy Manor as is to be finished.”

“This must’ve taken longer.” Harry says.

“One of our books say it was built in a year.” Vincent says from behind them. “I read it, mother made me…It was the founders.”

“The founders were really powerful.” Draco agrees.

The group of first years walk up a flight of stone steps, crowding in front of the large, oak front door.

“Everyone here?” The large man looks over them. He squints at the chubby boy from earlier. “Where’s yer toad?”

The boy panics, looking around frantically until someone points to a toad hiding back in the grass. He runs down and grabs it, crying out, ‘Trevor! I’ve told you, please stop running away!”

As the boy walks up the steps to join them again, the large man raises his proportionally large fist to the door and knocked three times.

The door swings open. A tall witch in emerald green robes stands there, with a stern face similar to those worn by Harry’s tutors.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall.” The giant man tells her.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I’ll take them from here.” She says, moving backward and pulling the door open wide. This action reveals the large entrance hall.

The entrance hall is ginormous. Harry couldn’t think he expected anything less considering the size of the castle, but it’s still amazing. The ceiling is so far up that, in the dim lighting of torches lining the stone wall combined with only moonlight streaming in, Harry can’t make it out. There’s a beautiful, large marble staircase facing them directly leading up to the upper floors. It vaguely reminds him of the staircase in Malfoy Manor, the imported Italian marble that Lady Narcissa has meticulously cleaned very often.

Harry can hear the drone of voices from a doorway to the right, likely from the rest of the school, but the professor ignores it completely as she leads them away. They follow Professor McGonagall across the stone floor, to a small, empty chamber off the hall.

The group crowd in together, standing close together than they probably usually would have done. Harry keeps himself closely tucked by the other three boys he’d ridden in with, for example.

“Welcome to Hogwarts.” Professor McGonagall begins. Her eyes move over their heads, calculating, like a cat looking at birds pecking at the ground. “The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family.”

Harry instinctively reaches out for Draco’s robes. He clutches the side and tugs. Draco mimics the same gesture. They glance at each other, in the corner of their eyes, and smile. They are already family, after all.

“You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.” She continues. “The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are here, your triumphs will earn your House points, but any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.”

Draco whispers to Harry, “Slytherin.” Harry nods in agreement, leaning back and mouthing the same with a small smile.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” McGonagall says. Her eyes linger on the chubby boy, whose cloak was fastened under his left ear, then they move over to another boy’s dirt smudged nose. “I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.”

She leaves the chamber.

Harry turns to Draco. “What do you think the Sorting Ceremony will be?”

“Don’t know. Father and mother wouldn’t say.” Draco says.

“No one would tell me either.” Harry says.

A red headed boy near them turn to face the two and says, “My brother said it hurts.” He looks nervous, just the same as Harry and Draco.

“I hope not.” Harry says.

Draco squints at the boy. “You’re a Weasley, aren’t you?” He questions, sounding almost curious.

“Yeah.” The boy says. “I’m Ron Weasley. What’s it to you?”

“I’m Draco Malfoy.” Draco says like it’s a mighty declaration. “I’ve heard about your family.” He sounds a little condescending, like he often does.

Ron Weasley, however, doesn’t know Draco nor is he used to Draco like Harry is. “I’ve heard about yours.” Weasley says, sounding just as mean right back.

Harry knows of the Weasley’s, of course. He knows about Molly Weasley, the woman famously tortured to insanity, and of her seven children left essentially without a mother. He knows that they are bloodtraitors and that they have no wealth, but they are to be pitied and left alone. The patriarch of the family already has too much to deal with. He’s heard Lucius make the occasional comment, as well as Braxton, but Narcissa and others have already frowned at them. It’s a family to be pitied, not challenged.

So, Harry nudges Draco’s side. “Leave him alone.” He says.

Ron turns to him, scowling. “I can defend myself.”

Harry is about to retort when several people let out shrieks. He turns his head in time to witness a group of conversing ghosts passing through the chamber.

The ghost pause in their discussion to look over the group of new students.

“New students!” One cheers. “About to be sorted, I suppose?” A few people nod. His smile grows. “I hope to see you in Hufflepuff. My old House, you know.”

The ghost looks eager to continue talking, but Professor McGonagall returns.

“Move along now, the Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”

The ghosts float away, one by one, through the opposite wall.

Professor McGonagall instructs them to form a line before following her out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of large double doors into the Great Hall. Harry chokes a little as he follows behind Draco, amazed by the simple grandeur of the hall.

The Great Hall is lit by thousands of candles floating above four long tables. The tables boast glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall sat another long table, where teachers sit. What feels like hundreds of faces turn to stare at them as they follow Professor McGonagall up near the front table.

As they walk, Harry looks up when he hears a girl whisper about the enchanted ceiling. To his amazement, he sees a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. Harry wonders if there’s even a ceiling at all, it looks as though it opens up to the sky outside.

They reach the front of the hall. McGonagall pulls a stool from where it had been pushed aside, sitting it down to look out perfectly to the four tables. She then reveals a hat from her robes. The hat is patched and frayed, and very, very dirty. She places it on the stool.

Harry waits, curious, for something new to happen when something new does just happen.

A rip on the brim of the hat opens wide like a mouth. To Harry’s amazement and wonder, the hat begins to sing.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The hall bursts into such loud applause that Harry jumps when they do. The hat bows to each of the four tables before it becomes completely still again.

“We just have to try on the hat.” Harry whispers to Draco. “It won’t hurt at all.”

“Of course not.” Draco replies, frowning.

It’s a harsher tone than Harry’s used to being on the receiving end of. So he just turns his head and ignores the brief hurt that rocks in his stomach.

Professor McGonagall steps forward, now holding a long roll of parchment.

Briefly, Harry thinks to wonder where she’s got room for a hat and parchment in her robes.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.” She says.

The first one called is Hannah Abbott.

Gregory Goyle speaks up next to Harry, whispering over to him and Draco, “She’s my cousin. I bet she’ll be in Ravenclaw.”

The hat declares otherwise, yelling out loudly, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Sorry your cousin’s in Hufflepuff.” Draco whispers back to Gregory who shrugs in response.

Susan Bones comes next. After her, there is Terry Boot. Many more names follow, of course, and Harry recognizes some of them. He can guess the names he doesn’t know must belong to muggleborns or halfbloods.

Vincent goes up first among them. The hat declares him a Slytherin. Some time after him, with names like Justin Finch-Fletchley coming between, Gregory is called up. The hat declares him, also, a Slytherin.

Then, McGonagall calls, “Longbottom, Neville!”

The entire hall silences. Harry watches their line intensely, wondering who had been secretly the Boy-Who-Lived. To his shock, the chubby boy with the toad comes stepping forward.

Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived, with his messy cloak and runaway toad, trips on his way to the stool. He sits down and the hat goes onto his head. It takes a long time for it to declare a House, but when it does, it does so as loudly as any other. “GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry claps along with Draco, who snorts beside him and mutters, “Of course the Boy-Who-Lived would be a Gryffindor.” Harry silently agrees. It’s the House for the honorable and brave and too-noble-for-their-own-good, so he’s come to understand.

It takes some time after, but Draco is called. He swaggers over to the stool and sits down, back straight, looking forward with the face taught to him his own tutors. One of delicately designed calmness and pride.

The hat doesn’t hesitate to yell out, “SLYTHERIN!”

Harry grips his robes. He doesn’t like standing now, in the line, feeling so alone. He hopes his name is called soon. He wishes to join Draco and the other two boys at the Slytherin Table.

There’s a Moon followed by Theodore Nott, who Harry’s met many times before. Then there’s Pansy Parkinson, who Harry has played with often, too. Lord Lucius’ mother had belonged to the Parkinson family, her father is one of Lucius’ closer cousins. A much more acceptable cousin, too, than the Lovegood side. There are twin girls, belonging to the Patil family which Harry doesn’t know but it means nothing. Their darker skin means they could simply be from a family new to Britain, but still possibly very pure and good.

Finally, another Sally-Anne Perks, Harry’s name is called.

He lets out a soft hum of air and walks forward.

Harry sits down on the stool and clutches the sides of it as the hat is dropped onto his head.

He closes his eyes tight and hopes, with all he can, for Slytherin.

A voice begins in his ear. “Hmm,” It says. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes…And a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting…”

Harry swallows spit. It’s sounding good, so far. Slytherin traits, he thinks, surely the hat must decide so, soon.

“Oh, Slytherin, you think?” The hat asks.

He nods minutely.

“You would do very good in Slytherin, wouldn’t you? Meant for that House, I dare say. I see it all here, very clear. You could be great as a Slytherin…But, there’s something else here, yes…I know where you must go, you’ll do just as good here…”

“What?” Harry whispers. “No, I want Slytheri-“

“GRYFFINDOR!” The hat booms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh...this? this trash right here?? it belongs to me <3
> 
> Sorry for taking so long for this chapter!! Midterms and work and fun shit smacked me in the fucking face, so...But enjoy? I hope? Leave me a kudos or a comment, whichever, validate my reasons for continuing this fic. 
> 
> p.s. i had a lot of Thought on this one!! i had to pause and think which House would work best for our little Rosier-Potter boy, like i was the sorting hat myself :) i think i made the right choice for our boy, but he's going to have to suffer some lmao

**Author's Note:**

> good? bad? unoriginal? let me know and validate my existence with comments and kudos
> 
> p.s. I’ve made @tntedlove on Instagram for my fic info and where you can send me prompts :)


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